Fragmentary
by Arcadya
Summary: There is a point in one's life when all things considered normal fracture. Can Hotch and Emily, abducted and missing, sort through the strangeness of their situation and overcome the fractured world of the UnSub...or will they succumb to his madness?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again my dear fanfiction readers.**

**This is basically a sequel to my previous CM fic (The Snowman), it's not necessary to read it, although there is some slight mentioning of Prentiss' 'trauma'. So if you've not read it and hate to be out of the loop I'd suggest going back and reading that. Otherwise, please enjoy this fic!**

**Yeah, so...thanks for reading, hope you have fun with it...that's all. Arc  
**

Fourteen days ago (the silhouette of night)…

She had her eyes closed, not too many women felt comfortable enough in this kind of bar to dance with their eyes shut. Maybe a quick close and open, but he'd never seen a woman who looked like that, dance for that long, with those movements, with her eyes shut for going on twenty minutes. It was impressive. He pretty sure she was here alone too. She'd bought her own drinks, given him her purse and started dancing. Five minutes to relax, five more to get into the vibe of the bar, and 'boom'…all eyes were on her. Men, women, sexual preference, it didn't matter, she was the focus of all attention.

She smiled a little to herself, and moved more. Her body sliding and curving to the beat of the music. Her hair was out; when she had arrived it had been straight. But now, with the beat of music, her self-expression on the dance floor and the heated gaze of everyone in the room, her hair had curled and tousled itself. She was truly remarkable.

Her purse started to bounce and skate across the nook he had put it in. Probably her phone. He thought about pawing through her purse to get to it and answer for her. It was good business sense not to disturb her, he was sure attendance had doubled since she'd started dancing. On second thoughts, she might not appreciate the invasion of privacy. She hadn't indicated that she wanted to dance with any of the multitudes of guys trying to get near her. He was going to have to interrupt her. He sighed and made his way over with her purse.

He had waited while she called back the person. Heard her sharp and short comments. He deduced work wanted her come in, he glanced at his wristwatch…12.45am, perhaps instead it was a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, who knew these days! He hoped she didn't work for a competing bar, he wanted her to come back. Maybe he could pay her to dance again. Nothing sleazy, just to attract…anyone. All the patrons seemed to be mesmerized by her. She asked him to wait with her outside for her ride. She hadn't had a lot to drink, he'd been counting. But she was over the driving limit. He wondered if she'd told her boss she was slightly drunk. He wondered if anyone would even recognize it. She seemed completely in control.

She smiled at him then, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Thanked him for waiting with her. He nodded back. Asked if she would come back again soon, told her she was good for business. An amused smile had graced her face then, her eyes had peered into his soul and she made her decision. A tiny nod answered his question. He smiled again this time with teeth, it was his mark of respect and acceptance. All of his loyal patrons, the ones who had been coming to his bar for years knew that if you got Smokey Tom to teeth-smile at you, you were in his inner circle, and all drinks were half price. Not exactly in line with his usual business savvy nature, but his bar was the best non-gang biker bar in DC. He'd let his patrons know, this one was under his protection. She certainly wasn't biker material, too soft and womanly, too 'upper-crust'. But she drew new people to the bar, and he always welcomed new people. She seemed to draw in the white-collar people who wanted a night on the wild side. And she was a novelty for his normal crew. They liked the extra white-collar people too, they got to try out their stereo-typical attributes to fascinating and usually hilarious result.

He didn't ride with the gangs anymore, not since '89 when he'd 'smoked' a couple of hooligans trying to compete with the main set. It was bad enough back then trying to determine who was a Hell's Angel or a Bandito, but to have some punk, up-start kids try to make a piss-weak 'The Dugongs', or some other equally poorly named gang, was too much for his ego to take. He'd 'smoked' them. The other gangs had approved. But he'd had to drop off the motorcycle scene, much to his and his gang's disappointment. He survived, used his cash bundle to start up this joint…Smokey's. It was working out great, enough time had lapsed that most people didn't realise who he was, unless they'd been around at the time, and, quite seriously, not many of them had survived. Smokey's was neutral ground. If members of any gang entered, they were essentially swearing to keep personal business outside. So far, it had worked. He hadn't had to 'smoke' anyone for at least a decade, and he'd earned his stripes, his bar was the best in the area.

She could tell he was thinking about the old times. She smiled another one of her amazing smiles at him. She wasn't perturbed by him in the least, he admired her guts. A pretty girl like her, walking into Smokey's without a man or at least a gun. But, he hadn't searched her…she was a smart one, she probably did have a weapon on her. He arched his eyebrow at her while asking if she was packing. She cocked her leg, resting her booted foot on a trash can, and pulled up the smooth as silk pant leg to reveal a small calibre gun. It definitely looked used and well cared for. He liked that she was comfortable with the weapon. That's when he saw the steely glint in her eyes.

This woman had been through some shit. He smiled again, this time injecting it with a little more respect. A nod to her, that he understood their stances. She nodded back as a dark SUV pulled up. A severe looking man barely glanced at him. His arm was slung low across the back of the passenger side seat. He waited patiently for the woman…Shadow (Smokey decided to call her) to get in. She gave him another amused smirk, got in the car and they pulled away. In the distance he could see the man begin to berate Shadow. Probably for being in this kind of a neighbourhood. Didn't the man know Shadow could take care of herself. She had certainly seen worse things than this neighbourhood had to offer, Smokey was convinced of that. No one who hadn't walked through hell could be so confident in his bar. He grinned, he couldn't wait for Shadow to return. Next time he was going to have a proper conversation with her.

**So, how's that for a first chapter? **

**Oh, forgot to mention, this story is set a few months after my last. The Snowman was set before season three's finale - so there was no bomb in a car mentioned even though I guess at some point it had happened between (Snowman) and now, but it included the fact that JJ was pregnant, just go with it :) **

**This one is set after Henry's birth and I'm ignoring that Agent Todd ever arrived. Nothing against her I just can't be bothered to add in a new character development. So we'll just pretend, when JJ went on maternity leave the team had no need for a media liaison, unusual but is fanfic, you'll forgive me :)**

**Arc, please review. They make me shiny and glowy on the inside!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I figured I'd post this one too. The story might make more sense when we actually have some 'named' characters in it :)**

Fourteen days ago (the falling twilight)…

Hotch was hugely unimpressed. After a particularly depressing week at work; including another custody/visitation phone battle with Hayley, three custodial interviews to delegate within the team, and personnel evaluations to fill in, he had finally gotten out of the office. Only to be informed by the ever-knowing Penelope Garcia that Prentiss had left the office at lunch and failed to return. Garcia didn't seem surprised that he hadn't noticed Emily's lack of return. It was common knowledge within the team that once a fortnight on Fridays Emily went to see her FBI assigned psychologist. It was unusual that so many months after the trauma event she would still need to see him, but if the agent/psychologist felt it necessary, Hotch could see no immediate harm in letting the sessions continue. He was curious, as were the rest of the team, but this was one subject that the team took precarious care not to broach. If these sessions were allowing Emily to continue being with the BAU and accompanying them into the field, they were grateful.

Garcia hadn't wanted to take more action that strictly necessary. She had been tempted to put a tracer on Emily's phone, but if that information ever got back to Emily...Garcia knew her life and her friendship would have been in danger. Hotch said he'd take of it.

Glancing at his watch he realized it was 1:00am. He rang her phone, hoping that he wouldn't be waking her. But he resigned himself that if he did, he was her boss and she would just have to deal with it. She should have let him know that she wasn't coming back to the office. Her phone rang out and went to voice mail. He left a message asking her to immediately call him, no matter the time. He wanted to know where she was. He heard to twinge of something more than business-like concern color his voice. He ignored it in favor of his growing annoyance. Emily Prentiss wasn't like this. She didn't suddenly disappear from work with no indication of where she was going or why. Apart from himself, she was the most stoic member of the team. Except, his profile-conscious mind told him, she was far more integrated into the team dynamics than he was. She could laugh and joke with Morgan and Reid, bond with Garcia and JJ, she even had lengthy conversations with Rossi. It was only he that struggled to have a deeper relationship. He could not seem to dissolve the strict barrier of superior/subordinate dynamic he had imposed on them when she had first arrived. It was slowly fading, not quick enough for his tastes though. He wondered if she felt the same way he did. If she was as frustrated with their relationship, or lack thereof, as he was.

He had noticed that they often sat near each other in briefings and on the jet, but they rarely conversed outside of the 'work'. He wondered at the implications of that. Were they merely avoiding 'outside work' topics because they were aware it would lead into avenues they might not be ready for, or was it simply because they had nothing to talk about, other than work?

She returned his call. Her voice was clipped, and sounded slightly annoyed. He reveled in the knowledge that she only allowed him to see her frustration, her annoyance. No other member of the team saw this side of her. No other member of the team saw this deeper and darker Emily. Only he did. Because she let him, and because on occasion when they were alone, he let his emotions color his voice too. But only with her. He told her he needed to talk about her performance at work, it was a lie, but he heard the pounding bass in the background, the clinking of glasses and shuffling of bodies. She was at a club, or a bar. By herself. He was picking her up. She gave him the address without any fuss. He vaguely recognized it. She hadn't told him the name of the club she was at.

Five minutes into his trip, his brow creased, his eyes darkened and he remembered why the address was so familiar. About twenty years ago a brawl had erupted inside a pub there, and then spilled outside into the street, a dive-y bar named Smokey's. He had been interested in the legalities of the case. The establishment wasn't truly to blame, but what was the public to expect of a biker bar, that catered to gangs but was indiscriminate in its patronage. The rivaling gangs were surely going to have problems seeing their enemies drinking beers across the row from them. It had been his first indication that his true purpose lay outside of the legal world. He had been interested in the psychological profile of the gangs and their codes of conduct and duty and honor. He hoped she wasn't at that bar. He racked his brain trying to think of any other bar in the area. He knew there wasn't one. She was at Smokey's. By herself.

She was waiting for him outside with a rough looking, portly man. Smokey Tom was an incredibly dangerous man. He had killed, essentially murdered a fledgling gang in the late eighties, much to the glee of the other gangs and terror of the State Department. Thankfully there had been no repercussions on the streets. They had never been able to get enough evidence to arrest him let alone convict. It was folklore around the DA's office that Smokey's bar was the hot spot for all gang related business. It was THE neutral ground. Kind of like the mafia's head honchos gathering together to discuss how to structure business etiquette. It was a dangerous place. Why was she here?

Hotch was surprised when Smokey Tom opened the passenger side door for her. She smiled in thanks and got in. Hotch impressed himself when he managed to wait a full fifteen seconds before berating her for being in such a place.

She didn't answer.

He frowned.

He reached for her hand, he didn't know how to tell her she had worried him. Knowing anything could happen at a place like that. He respected her ability to protect herself, but some deeper part of him wanted to be the one to protect her. He couldn't voice it though. They didn't have that kind of relationship. He hated it when a small voice added 'yet'.

She didn't answer, or appear surprised by his movement she merely grasped a little tighter onto his hand. She fell asleep before they got to her apartment. He tossed up the possibilities of getting her into her unit. He decided to let her sleep some more. He picked her up and carried her.

She woke up in the elevator.

After a sleepy disconcerted gaze at him, she stood up and he somewhat reluctantly let her. He admired the fact that she managed to retain the dignity that had been bred into her, she was still incredibly sleepy though, and forewent their business-like relationship to lean on his shoulder.

He had had to wrap his arm around her back to lead her toward her door. She was fading quite fast. He was pleasantly surprised with this development. That she would trust him this much, to see her so vulnerable and dependent. Upon arriving at her door, she slipped out her key and tried to fit it in the lock.

She was drunker than she looked.

He took the key off her, still supporting her, and easily slid it into the lock, turned and half carried, half pushed her into her apartment. He then knew that something was seriously wrong. Her house was a mess. Not a mess in normal people standards, but an Emily-mess. She was fastidiously neat and tidy. Everything on her desk at work was in it's proper place, and she would fiddle with things absently, rearranging them properly, placing the item back into it's designated spot. Morgan enjoyed tormenting her by moving around objects on her desk. She had often mentioned she had melancholic personality traits. It relaxed her to organize things. So while Morgan was trying to annoy he was actually helping her to relax. Not that Morgan knew that, she put on quite a show. Hotch knew though, that she used the never-ending rearranging as an outlet for her frustration with the despicableness of humanity that their jobs caused them to interact with daily.

The place actually looked lived in. But for Emily, knowing what he did of her at work, and that one time he'd been in her apartment before, her inner turmoil was showing itself in her apartment. She was hiding things from him. He wondered if her psychologist knew she was struggling?

She seemed to be making for the couch. Her bedroom was upstairs he supposed. She didn't seem to have much energy. He let her flop onto it as lady-like as he could. He fixed her scrunching shirt, carefully ignored his better judgment and cleared some hair off her face. He tried not to revel in the feel of her skin. Said goodnight and went to leave her flat.

A figure stood in her doorway. A flash of memory reminded him that he had closed the door. His hand automatically went for his waist, ready to unclip his sidearm. The figure sprayed something in his face. At first, he thought it was aerosol, but as the figure kept spraying, Hotch inadvertently breathed in. It was a pleasant smell, it was off-putting, mainly because it wasn't any kind of perfume or cologne. But then again why would anyone run around at night Rip Van Winkle style spraying people with deodorants? Hotch felt consciousness slip away from him. His last thoughts were somewhere between;

I've been drugged…

Possibly chloroform?

Emily…

**Oooh scariness... ;)**

**What did you think, please review. I like them and it makes me happy to know that people have opinions on my story.**

**Arc  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Greetings fanfictioners, the new installment has arrived. Enjoy.**

Eleven days ago…

Emily was late.

That in and of itself was highly unusual, add in the fact that it was Monday and she'd had the whole weekend off…too strange.

Morgan contemplated rearranging the files on her desk, but she hadn't been putting up as much of a fuss as usual. She was very un-Emily-like lately. She'd been tenser, less laughing, skittish even. He had wanted to talk to her about it, but she had never come back from her appointment with her psychologist. He mentioned the lack of Emily to Garcia as he left; she had been defragging one of her computers and didn't want to leave her station until it was finished. Garcia said she would take care of it. He trusted her; perhaps he should go and see if she knew what had happened.

Rossi watched though the open blinds of his office as Morgan, after much contemplation of Emily's desk, rose and went off in the direction of Garcia's tech room. He'd been worried about Emily recently. The stiffness with which she held herself screamed post-traumatic stress. But no one had been able to get close to her; thankfully, they hadn't had any particularly pressing cases or engagements. Mainly just custodial interviews and lectures. Emily seemed to be putting up her hand more and more for the lectures, as if she were afraid to be around criminals. This was odd, because Emily was never afraid of the people they profiled. She was one of the strongest people, strongest agents he had ever known. And he'd known a lot of strong people.

He was wondering about Hotch too, he'd seen the lingering looks Aaron had been bestowing upon Emily. Rossi didn't think she'd noticed. But he certainly had, he was rather surprised especially because he'd overheard Hotch rant on inter-office relationships more than once when addressing new cadets. Rossi was more than sure nothing had happened between the two, but if he was any good at profiling, which he was, he certainly expected some interesting developments within the next few months. He decided he'd do a quick drop into Hotch's office under the pre-text of discussing Emily's unusual behavior simply so he could profile the man.

Dave knocked on the closed door. It wasn't exactly odd for Hotch to close his door or have the blinds closed. Hotch tended to retreat to his office when he was pouring over the more disturbing case files, but to have them both closed at the same time was something new. When there was no answer, he peered closely at the bottom of the door. Hotch's light wasn't on. He jiggled the door handle, open…he pushed the door, it swung to reveal the office, Rossi realized Hotch wasn't here. Hadn't been in today.

Dave Rossi wasn't stupid enough to believe that both Hotchner and Prentiss not being in was a coincidence. Something was wrong.

"Reid, ring Emily." Rossi demanded, quickly pounding down the few steps that lead from Hotch's office to the floor of the bullpen. He picked up the nearest phone, Morgan's, and rang Hotch.

Reid obeyed instantly. They both had instinctively rung their colleagues' mobile phones. Both rang out, they changed tacks and rang their home phones. Both rang out, or went to voice-mail.

"No answer." Rossi said as he hung up, worriedly.

"Me too." Reid replied.

"You trying to contact Emily?" Morgan asked, with a brightly arrayed technical analyst trailing behind him.

"And Hotch. No answer." Rossi said.

"Both of them?" Morgan seemed surprised; he spared a glance toward Hotch's office.

"Who saw them last?" Rossi questioned.

"I don't know about Emily, because no one saw her after she left to go…"Garcia's answer fell off, she hated that Emily still went to that psychologist. She couldn't explain her reason exactly but she always felt that Emily was keeping something from her. Something she would only talk to this psychologist about.

"Where she usually goes once a fortnight on Fridays." Reid supplied. No one liked to say psychologist out loud. If felt like a betrayal of what Emily had been through, a betrayal of her trust in them, her privacy even.

"Yeah," Garcia was thankful that some one had put her out of her silent misery, "but I knew she hadn't come back, so when Hotch was leaving around one o'clock Friday night, I mentioned it to him. He rang her phone, spoke to her and left. I presumed everything was fine. He didn't seem too worried." Garcia was fidgeting now, if something had happened to one or both of them…she couldn't finish that sentence, not even in her own head.

"Well, I'm significantly worried. Morgan you go to Emily's apartment, see if she's there, Reid and I will go to Hotch's place." Rossi said. They all agreed with that course of action. It was better to be safe than sorry. A little over-protectiveness on their parts would far outweigh any potential discomfort or embarrassment for the two individuals.

JJ walked into the bullpen ready to have some relaxing chat-time with Emily. But there was no one from her team there. She looked around the pen flustered. Normally, at least one person of the team was around. They didn't just go off on trips without her, she was their media liaison, they needed her. She left immediately to find Garcia, if she didn't know what was going on then she would at least have the facilities to find out. She peeked inside Garcia's bat cave. Today's theme was Strawberry Shortcake. Pictures of the overly pink cartoon cake-girl swam over the screens in Garcia's computer dungeon. Only Garcia wasn't paying them any attention. She was focused solely on last Friday's security footage. She had two screens devoted to that avenue of interest. One screen had Garcia and Hotch talking outside the bullpen, Hotch then pulling out a phone while continuing walking. The other was of Emily, in another section of Quantico. She was walking down a corridor with an indescribable expression on her face. JJ came a little closer so that she could see the date and time of this particular image. It was mid-afternoon Friday. Garcia's foray into the FBI's security system followed Emily out of the building and into the parking lot. Garcia hummed disapprovingly.

"What's going on Pen? Where is everyone?"

"Oh Jayje, I didn't know you were there."

"I know. You're pretty interested in those images of Emily and Hotch. You didn't answer my question though."

"Well, Em and Hotch haven't come in to work. And it's a bit much to expect that they've finally fallen into bed together."

"Garcia!" JJ exclaimed, Pen's outrageousness was always entertaining, but that was an image she really didn't need the next time she saw Hotch and Emily near each other. Besides, she wasn't even sure if they liked each other like that.

"Anyway, my darling sparkle-bug…Emily left work that afternoon without telling anyone, no calls, no notes, no nothing. I believe Hotch talked to her late Friday night, with me…right there," she pointed at the screen, tapping the place showing Hotch on his phone and herself tagging along behind him through the darkened halls of the BAU. "But, other than that, no one's heard from either of them since Friday."

"They aren't here?"

"Nope. They boys have gone to their houses. Maybe they're sick, or still asleep."

"What do you think?" JJ asked.

"I'm hoping it's something simple, like there's no electricity and their phones aren't charged, or there's been some freaky EMP attack. Or, giant cockroaches are barring their doors and they can't get out."

"Gut feelings?"

"Bad gut feelings, this is not like them, either of them."

"Emily has been weird lately." JJ said, tentatively.

"Well, yeah, but she's still Em. She would know we would be worried. Especially after…"

"Everything, yeah. Ok." JJ was unsure whether she should leave or stay. This could get bad very easily.

"Stay." Garcia commanded.

All they had to do now was wait for the information to come flowing in.

**(Evil music insert)...**

**Well, the team had to find out eventually, am I peaking your interest?**

**Please review, it's the middle button at the centre of the screen, no longer purple (a shame) and is now white-gray-ish with green letters...well...I'm sure you all ready know that. So please just review, they help me to sort out if I'm conveyingt o you what I want to convey!**

**Arc  
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	4. Chapter 4

**Another chapter for my loyal readers, and the very few, very special, dear to my heart Reviewers. You guys get capitals because I love you so much...**

Ten days ago (marks of existence)…

JJ was standing in the middle of Emily's apartment, with a group of crime scene technicians. They were spread out dusting surfaces for fingerprints, blood, evidence that might explain where Agent Prentiss had gone, or if something had happened to her. Morgan had returned from her apartment the day before really freaked out. He'd never seen her place so disorganized. There was no sign that she'd been in the apartment, for several days at least. Rossi and Reid returned with similar sentiments from Hotch's place.

This was how it happened that two of her teams' private abodes were basically being ransacked by grubby-handed scientists. She sighed to herself; she knew she didn't really mean that. She wanted to know what had happened to Emily and Hotch this was not like them. This was not like anyone she knew.

Rossi had said she didn't need to be in Emily's apartment for this, but since she wasn't a profiler, and they wouldn't be doing any more cases until their people where found, she hadn't wanted to stay at the office. But being in Emily's apartment wasn't much better. JJ decided to go back to the BAU; maybe she could do some coffee runs or something, so that she felt helpful instead of useless. As she was leaving, walking down the corridor to the elevator, JJ noticed a small blinking red light high in the ceiling. Did Emily's apartment complex have security inside as well? JJ rang Garcia to get her on to that line of questioning immediately. At least if they had video footage of Emily leaving or arriving, they could time-line when she had last been to her apartment. They would know if they were dealing with two separate incidents, or one big one. JJ didn't know if she was hoping for two minor things or a very big bad one. She felt more inclined for big one; at least Emily and Hotch would be together. That had to be better than individual badness, right?

Garcia had immediately set about infiltrating Emily's home security, well her apartment complex' security. She went back five days and started to sift through the digital data. She was surprised when she found one dated four days ago, in the middle of the afternoon. Emily must have come straight home from work. Fifteen minutes later, Emily exited her apartment in different clothes and left the building. Garcia frowned at her screen. Emily hadn't had a bag with her. She barely had enough clothes on for any solitary endeavor. Dark straight pants, and some sort of flirty-ish top, not the usual wear for her girl. She didn't seem to have any protection either, Garcia noticed. Not even a coat for if it rained.

With her brow still frowned, but her mouth chewing on a piece of cinnamon gum, she sped up the data display. She watched for when Emily came back. Penelope heard the door swish open, and felt more than heard the soft footsteps of JJ.

"How's it going?" JJ inquired as she deposited a cup of hot beverage on Garcia's station.

"I found Emily, Friday afternoon. Waiting for her to come back." Garcia replied her eyes never moving from the fast motion nothing.

JJ reflected that it was weird watching something play in high speed when nothing actually changed on the screen. But then, she wasn't sure that anyone else actually lived on the same floor as Emily. Or if they did, they were workaholics like Emily, or lived abroad. Emily lived in a rich area. Being an Ambassador's daughter had some perks.

"Stop." JJ partially screamed. Garcia had closed her eyes for a few seconds and had missed the two figures' high-speed stroll down the hall. "Rewind." She commanded.

Garcia obeyed but inwardly grumbled at the obvious remark. She stifled a half sigh/groan, knowing that expressing her frustration at the situation by directing it at JJ would not be helpful.

Pen reduced the speed back to normal, and the two remaining female members of the BAU watched the screens with intense obsession. At the bottom of the screen, a dark figure was helping another slightly smaller figure along the corridor. The smaller one's head was resting on the bigger one's shoulder, while the bigger one's arm was wrapped around behind the back of the small figure and clutching at it's waist.

"Hey, isn't that Hotch?" JJ remarked. The figure had just turned his head, looking down but over the smaller figures' head. Garcia nodded as they watched him shift the smaller figure closer to his left hip, and keep the smaller figure upright as it fumbled about near it's waist. The two figures, Hotch and the other smaller one, turned side on. They had made it to Emily's door.

"Is that Emily?" JJ asked astounded. Again, Garcia nodded.

"What are they doing?" Garcia posed.

JJ and Garcia watched in silence as Emily hung sprawled over their supervisor, and he mildly allowed her to. They watched as Emily, still fumbling about at her waist, finally found what she was looking for and attempted to insert her key into the lock.

"Is she drunk?" JJ asked incredulously, Emily never let herself go that far, at least not in the company of the team.

"I think so, poppet." Was the only reply.

Eventually, Hotch stepped in and took the key from her. Garcia was having a hard time reading his face. Not that it was especially easy to read Agent Hotchner; he was the epitome of the perfectly stoic agent, even with the team. But he didn't seem too put out, he was actually somewhere between angry and amused. Or was that expression bemusement? Whatever it was Hotch seemed to be taking extreme care with his handling of Emily. He looked kind of concerned, in a more than business-like way.

As soon as the door to Emily's apartment swung open, she seemed to sway and her knees almost buckled. Hotch immediately grabbed at her waist more forcefully. He pushed, half carried her into her apartment.

Garcia and JJ looked at each other, their expressions mirrored back at them in the other. This was too weird. Something was seriously 'up' with Prentiss. When they turned back to the monitor, Hotch and Emily had disappeared into her apartment. Silence stretched in Garcia's haven for a few seconds, then another person appeared. Dressed in dark colors and obscured by a helmet, possibly a motorcycle helmet, the figure walked straight to Emily's door. The figure produced a key and opened Emily's door. JJ gasped. The figure waited at the door, probably watching whatever was happening in the apartment. Garcia wondered if you could back-pray. If so, she was starting right now.

Emily did not have manly visitors to her apartment without her being there and inviting them in, and definitely not ones she gave keys to willingly. They saw a shadow cross the threshold of the door, must be Hotch, they both thought. The dark figure brought up a canister, or an aerosol can, and sprayed something at Hotch's face. Well, at least sprayed something at the height of which Hotch's face would have been if they could see into the apartment. The figure kept spraying until they saw a body crumple in the doorway. The figure stepped over the body, which they assumed was Hotch. Boy shoes. Emily had been wearing smart girly boots.

"Oh please no." JJ breathed. Not again her brain thought. Why did this keep happening to the team?

After a few more moments, the figure reappeared. He and Garcia had decided it was a guy, looped his arms under Hotch's arms, clasping them around his chest. He then dragged Hotch to the elevator. When nothing happened for a few moments, she decided they'd taken the elevator down.

"Hang on one minute." She said aloud. She jumped the feed forward a few minutes. Suddenly the figure was back. He entered Emily's apartment again. Then he was out again carrying Emily as if she weighed five pounds. He entered the elevator again.

"Crap." Garcia swore. She didn't like to really swear, she enjoyed making up convoluted sentences instead. It seemed so much more sophisticated to swear an intelligent verbose sentence than a one-word blasphemy. But this occasion called for a one-word curse. She didn't have the heart to get more derogatory.

"We need to show the guys." JJ said softly. Her head began to ache. She'd only recently come back to work after taking maternity leave for Henry. She didn't know if she had enough energy to do this again. At least she wasn't carrying around another life form this time.

"I'll see if I can find where they came from and where this guy took them."

"That's going to take a while Garcia."

Penelope looked at her a little pompously, "Then I'd better get started now then, hadn't I?"

"Because of the situation, I'm going to let that one slide." JJ said.

Garcia nodded; it wouldn't be helpful to start sniping at each other. She shook her head slightly, closed her eyes, counted to three (a nice happy family number) and started awakening her perfectly placed and balanced Road and Traffic Trojans. They were beautiful little RATTs, she loved them like she loved her brightly coloured Trolls, they helped keep her safe.

**Reviews are the sustenance of my heart and soul. Don't make me live in through a famine. I NEED SUSTENANCE ;)**

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	5. Chapter 5

Ten days ago (existing in spite of the mark)…

Morgan, Reid and Rossi sat around the conference table. They had just finished watching the feed of Emily and Hotch being abducted.

No one said anything. JJ had started the feed running but left, saying she really didn't want to watch it again. At least this time she hadn't been unconscious and tied to a bed when Emily had been kidnapped. Garcia was still running her RATTs through the system. Hopefully something, anything would pop up soon.

Reid sighed loudly, "I hate to say it…but this looks premeditated."

"I know," Rossi replied, "the canister, the helmet, this guy had a key to Emily's apartment!" With that thought, he quickly picked up the phone and rang the crime scene guys; he told them to take swabs of the surfaces and to run tests for any kind of aerosol delivery system that could render its victim unconscious. The crime scene people knew better than to question him.

"Well, we should probably let the guys at Hotch's house know they can leave it. They won't find anything of value there." Morgan said. Rossi nodded and made that call too.

"Wait." Reid said, "If Hotch was at Emily's house, shouldn't his car still be there?"

"I didn't see it when I went there yesterday." Morgan said, "Hey Jay," he called out into the bullpen.

JJ came quickly; she had been hovering around Emily's desk. Contemplating whether going through it would be an invasion of privacy, under the circumstances. "What?" she asked breathlessly.

"Did you see Hotch's car at Emily's this morning?"

"Nooo, I don't think so." She thought about it a little more. "No. It wasn't there. I've seen his car enough times, I'd recognize it, it wasn't there."

Morgan huffed loudly, "This guy probably put them in Hotch's car, transported them wherever he wanted to take them, and then dumped the car. We should put a BOLO out on his car."

"Are we sure he wanted to take Hotch too, maybe he had to take them both?" Reid suggested.

"He didn't." Rossi answered.

"How do you know?" Reid replied.

"He knocked Hotch out…with whatever it was and he could have just left him there and taken Emily. But he didn't. He took both of them."

"But he'd obviously been watching Emily." Morgan added.

"So why take Hotch?" JJ asked.

"I don't know…we need more information." Rossi said.

"Maybe it's got to do with his ritual." Morgan said, "He was obviously targeting Emily, but perhaps Hotch added something, something we're not aware of yet?"

"But then wouldn't he have been following or targeting Hotch too?" JJ asked she had been sure she was starting to pick up their profiling ways.

"There's no sign of that. It definitely looked like Hotch was a spur of the moment pick up. But there was definite planning for Emily." Morgan put in.

"Besides, there's no way the UnSub could have known that Hotch would be bringing Emily home." Reid said, contemplating the replaying security footage. "He was probably lying in wait for Emily, or followed her from wherever Hotch picked her up…we need to know where they were."

Garcia was still pouring through the information her precious RATTs were sending her. She was thankful that she had experienced a lot of cyberspace that she had managed to find and infiltrate various government and secular operational systems and lay her little marionettes. There would be many victims, some that they would not have been able to save and more that would have been taken, if her sometimes-illegal domination of the digital highways weren't as prolific as it was. If there were ever a just cause for illegal undertakings then she definitely had found that reason. A lot of her more questionable endeavors were usually major case-breakers. A lot of her less than legal work helped the team to locate and arrest criminals.

She currently had her RATTs working in opposite directions. Some were searching for where Emily and Hotch had been, they were the ones that were back-tracing Hotch's car through the streets, the night making it slightly more difficult to see the car, but with night being night, there were considerably less cars on the streets. So it was a fifty-fifty situation. The other half of her RATT contingent were safely hacking away at more current records, trying to see where the UnSub had gone, if he had absconded with Hotch's car as well as Emily and Hotch.

Suddenly a whirlwind of boxes appeared, her systems had located and backtracked Emily and Hotch. She watched as her video feeds played in backward motion Hotch's SUV. They left Emily's building and got into the car back to front, it was odd to see the car moving in reverse through the city streets. There weren't many other vehicles in the vicinity. Garcia tried to see if any of the cars were traveling the same route as Hotch. Finally, the SUV stopped next to an older man standing by the curb of one of the streets. He opened the door and Emily got out, then he closed the door. The SUV pulled away backwards, and Emily watched it leave, then she turned to the older man and they seemed to be conversing. Garcia watched the feed run backward some more, she wanted to see want was happening, how long had Emily been standing on that curbside for?

Not long apparently. Emily and the older man walked back into one of the establishments, Garcia sped up the feed, quite a lot of people came and went from this tiny place. Quite a lot of different people came and went from this place, a lot of staid looking corporate people and alternative ones. What kind of place was this? One hand controlled the speed of the video and with her other hand, Penelope searched the address trying to find the name of this seemingly small place. 'Smokey's Bar' came up almost immediately along with FBI and Police records for gang related activity. It was hotspot for all things bad. What on earth was Emily doing there?

This was the kind of information that you didn't pass on over the phone if you could avoid it, Garcia stood up rapidly and started walking to the conference room. She knew her boys were probably in there hypothesizing and deliberating on the wicked psyche of this new bad guy. She pushed open the door, "I found where Emily was Friday night."

"Where?" Rossi and Reid asked simultaneously.

"A bar called Smokey's."

"Never heard of it, is it new?" Morgan asked.

"No, sugar plum…it's old, very old, and very bad." Garcia replied.

"That name sounds familiar," Reid stated his voice lowering as his mind sifted through multitudes of information to find the answer he needed.

"Smokey's or sugar plum?" Morgan interjected with an attempt at humor.

"You don't need to stress yourself trying to figure it out, Spence." Garcia said, "It's kind of a gang bar."

"What kind of gang, Garcia?" Rossi asked. His face if it could get an angrier seemed to do just that.

"It's more neutral ground for biker gangs, they aren't openly supposed to affiliate with their gangs once they cross the threshold."

"Do they, though?" said Morgan.

"The guy who owns it is very well respected in gang-land. I'd assume they would obey his stance once they crossed over into his bar."

"Smokey Tom. Thomas 'Smokey' Barnard." Reid stated. "He used to be in one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the 70's and 80's. He murdered a couple of young men. But dropped out of the scene and opened up this bar. No action was taken against him."

"Well, Derek, it looks like you and I are going to Smokey's Bar." Rossi said.

"What should I do?" Reid asked.

"Follow up on the evidence collected from Emily's apartment. We need to know as soon as possible what kind of chemical agent was used to knock Hotch and Emily out." Reid nodded, "JJ, could you take care of the media, at least look into if any of this has hit the news yet, we don't particularly want it known that two of our agents have been abducted and no one knew about it for two days. Garcia-"

"Got it, the usual for me. I'm still on the look out for Hotch's car. You'll know when I know, O Captain."

**So what do you all think?**

**I love reviews, I don't even mind flames, please just let me know what you think as you read this!**

**Arc  
**


	6. Chapter 6

Nine days ago (discovering fact)…

Morgan and Rossi went to Smokey's bar at night. Since it was a bar, they figured that they had a better chance of locating 'Smokey' Tom when the bar was open and had customers. It was possible that this Tom was their UnSub. Perhaps it was merely wishful thinking, maybe they just didn't want to contemplate that it had now been four days, almost five, since Hotch and Emily had been abducted. It was doubly frustrating because they had nothing to go on. There were no other similar cases of abductions involving couples, or dark haired women in Washington. Since, the UnSub had clearly been stalking Emily; it was unlikely that there would be any previous indicators to go on. Morgan wondered whether the reason Emily had been skittish lately was due to the fact that she was being stalked. Maybe she subconsciously knew that someone was watching her?

Morgan had a feeling he was going to like Smokey's. He could feel the pounding beat from their car. When Rossi opened the door and got out, the sound increased. It wasn't unpleasant, and there would certainly be no reason to call it noise pollution, but the vibrations were causing his lungs to throb appreciatively. He loved clubs, the dancing, the women, the ease with which he could roam and give in to his baser instincts. He especially loved the way people would part when he walked through the crowds. He was like a magnet that both repelled and attracted the hordes of individuals; those important people who were also out for a good time. Maybe that's why Emily was here. She didn't dance a lot. He'd had to bully her into it more than once. She preferred to watch and call out to him, she was the only female he knew who felt comfortable enough to make fun of him when he had three or four gorgeous women hanging off him. He still flirted with Garcia of course, but she preferred to not bring attention to herself when there were other women around that she didn't know. It disappointed him that Garcia still had so little confidence in herself. She was one of the six most fantastic, confident, beautiful and independent women he knew. (His mother, two sisters, JJ and Emily being the others.)

Rossi was reflecting that this was exactly the kind of place he would have frequented in his younger days. Not that he was old by any account, he reminded himself, but his ears had lost some of their agility, what would probably have at one time been appreciated was now simply an irritating noise, a low sound designed to get the blood pumping and the libido moving. He finally noticed a couple of people standing behind the bar preparing drinks for the customers. He glanced toward Morgan, who was being appreciated from a fair few number of the female species. He nodded toward the bar, and Morgan followed him. They leaned over the stools, Rossi noticing that gluey shine that indicated it would be sticky and refrained from leaning on it. Morgan was too busy watching the dancing females to worry about sticky forearms.

"What's your poison?" The rather immense and looming man asked.

"Is Thomas Barnard here?" Rossi asked, having to up his usual tone of voice to compensate for the music.

"Thomas Bernard?" The man questioned, "hey Tom, you know a Thomas Bernard?" His holler spread through the preparation area.

"That's me Lucas." The younger man lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't think my mama named my Smokey did you?" An older man came through from somewhere in the back. He looked fit and not at all gang-like. But perhaps that came from getting out of the game early. He also didn't look like a killer, but then not many people do.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Smokey Tom asked.

"Is there somewhere we can talk more privately?" Rossi asked.

"We'll talk right here thanks." Tom replied. He knew enough about law enforcement to recognize police when he saw them.

Rossi nodded, he hadn't wanted to do this at the front of the bar, but at least Tom was talking to them. He reached inside his left hand-side jacket pocket. Half of the patrons in the bar tensed. It seemed Smokey wasn't the only one who had the knack of recognizing law enforcement. Rossi saw Morgan stand straighter, he was glad to know Morgan could multitask.

"Have you seen her?" He showed the picture of Emily to Tom. "She would have been in here about four days ago, Friday night."

Smokey Tom waved his hand at his biker mates, there was no need to get riled up simply because a couple of cops showed up at his joint. He could handle himself. He looked at the photo. Shadow. There was no way he was ever going to forget her. If only he was a couple of years younger, and she was interested in older blokes. He'd have to ask her that next time he saw her. If the cops were after Shadow, should he tell them she was here? He glanced to the side, checking out the tall, dark guy, he seemed more interested in the women than in the questioning. He shuffled a bit to the left and was surprised when he saw the man's eyes flick to him. Oh, not as intent on the women as I thought.

"I might have seen her." He said, answering the old guy's question.

"She's in trouble." The old guy said.

"Look, it's not good for business for me to rat out alleged felons to the cops, okay?" Surely, these guys were smart enough to know that he wouldn't purposely help them find her. He could tell she was one of his ilk.

The old guy smiled at that, like he was seeing a long lost relative, "_She's_ not trouble, she's _in_ trouble."

He frowned. "Follow me." He led the two policemen out into the alley. "What's going on?"

"This woman was abducted late Friday night, and this was the last place we think she was."

"You can't pin this on me. I've got a whole bar-full of people who can verify that I walked Shadow out to the road, she got in a car with that severe man and left, at around 1:30am." There was no way these cops were going to blame him for every bad thing that happened in this city.

"Shadow?" The dark guy said with a smirk, "Does she come here a lot?"

"That night was her first, but she was going to come back."

"How do you know?" He asked.

Tom frowned, just who exactly were these guys? "Who are you?"

"I'm Agent Morgan," the dark man said, "and this is Agent Rossi." Tom peered closely at the badge proffered.

"FBI?" huh…it must be bad then, "Look she came, she drank, she danced, she left with that guy…"

"This guy," Agent Morgan asked showing him another picture, that same severe looking man peered menacingly out at him.

"That's the one."

"Was there anyone new at the bar watching Emily that night, watching a little too closely?" Agent Rossi asked.

"Emily's this woman right?" He just wanted to make sure, he preferred Shadow it suited her more. The Agents nodded, "Look, guys, it's a bar, she was drinking and dancing, and she's…well, she's a beautiful woman. Everyone was watching her."

"Define everyone…"Agent Morgan said flatly.

"I mean everyone. She was…there are no words to describe it. She was like, a magnet. Everyone was, just, watching her." He thought back to that night. Was there anyone who was watching her a little too closely, a little more than _just_ watching? "Actually, there was this one person."

"Yeah?" Both Agents perked up, they were very interested to hear any news of Shadow.

"He arrived maybe, three minutes after her, watched her even before she started dancing. I doubt anyone would have paid him any attention though."

"Why's that?" Agent Morgan asked.

"Because she was there, everyone was watching her…but after she left with that guy," he gestured to the photo, "I didn't see him again."

"Do you have security cameras?" Agent Rossi asked. Tom laughed, that was just absurd!

"Nah, mate. Not good for business." He paused; he could tell the Feebies were getting ready to leave, "Listen, because this is about Shadow, I'll put feelers out. If I find anything, I'll let you know." He saw them glance at each other. He was offering them the proverbial olive branch. If they didn't take it and he found this guy before they did, there wouldn't be anything left of him. He'd already decided Shadow was one of his inner circle. There was no backing out of that.

Morgan paused, was it a good idea to include this guy in their search? Then again, he could get into places that even Garcia couldn't.

"That'd be great, thanks." He handed over a card with his number on it, "call any time."

"This isn't just a job to you guys is it?" Smokey Tom asked, a slight frown appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Emily…Shadow," He saw Tom smile at that, "She's my best friend." Smokey nodded.

"This guy, who was watching Shadow. He was wearing motorcycle gear. I know, not unusual for a biker bar, but he wasn't in a gang. He was a ninety-nine percenter."

"So he probably rode a bike?" Morgan said, while thinking 'ninety-nine percenter?'

"Definitely, it was high quality stuff too, all leathers."

"Thanks Tom." Rossi said.

"I prefer Smokey." Tom answered.

"Smokey." He said, grinning at the image of Smokey the Bear that popped into his head. He could see why Emily had gotten close to this guy; he was a big teddy bear.

Morgan followed Rossi back to the SUV.

"So, let's get Garcia to check out this motorcycle guy." He said as he started up the car.

"Derek?" Rossi said.

"Yeah…"

"What's a ninety-nine percenter?"

Morgan laughed, "Thank god, I didn't know either."

**Hope you all enjoyed this next installment...**

**I love Smokey, I think he's one of my cutest characters. I don't know if anyone else likes him, but I do, and since I'm the creator of this fic, I guess I'm allowed to think that regardless of others.**

**Arc**

**P.S. Please review...  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Nine days ago (locating reality)…

JJ was waiting outside Garcia's tech room. Pen had kicked her out half an hour ago claiming she was ruining the 'zen' of the room with her constant pacing. She couldn't help it, there was nothing for her to do, no old case notes to go over, no other case files to compare, no media to confound, not even any other law enforcement people to console and keep everything going smoothly. Everything that could be done was being done by everyone else, and she'd been threatened with bodily harm if she attempted to ply anyone with any more coffee, tea, hot chocolate, doughnuts, slices, biscuits or cakes. She'd spent the night watching over Henry, standing or sitting beside his little cot, every so often making sure he was still breathing. Over-protective and a little bit psychotic, yes she knew, it still didn't stop her from doing it though. Will had stayed with her for a while, but eventually went back to sleep.

Morgan and Rossi had found out about a creepy motorcycle guy maybe following Emily. Garcia was checking the footage on the street outside Smokey's to see if they could identify mystery-man. They also seemed to be stuck on some math problem, ninety-nine percent, or some other number. It didn't matter, JJ had decided she wanted to do something productive, she just needed someone to tell her what that was.

Garcia was entirely frustrated. After stretching her patience to its very end she had finally succumbed to the desire to kick JJ out of her computer room. The woman was insufferable!

Penelope was sifting through a very dense load of information trying to locate Hotch's car, this motorcycle guy and any snippet or thread of data relating to Emily and Hotch. She wasn't having the best of luck, but she was well aware that all good things take time. She was trying not to think about what could be happening to Emily and Hotch, or what might not be happening to them because they were already dead…BUT, she was not going to even entertain that possibility. Her RATTs seemed to be having trouble locating Hotch's car. It didn't seem to have left Emily's apartment block during the night, but it wasn't there either. She knew. She had made poor Reid walk around the complex searching for it. It had taken him over an hour. But he had found the SUV's GPS module lying on the ground by a wall, it's wires had been ripped out of the console. It looked sad, and defeated. Garcia had felt sorry for it when Reid had showed her a picture. She had immediately stopped trying to locate the car through that avenue of investigation. She had been wondering why the answers came back as one of two things, either the SUV was still at Emily's or it just came back as - complete error. Garcia was glad to have one mystery solved but she was nowhere nearer to finding Hotch, Emily, or the car.

Her systems were fast-forwarding and rewinding the complex' footage searching for Hotch's car, or the UnSub. She decided that perhaps she needed to watch the parking garage and surrounding areas in real time. Maybe she was missing something important because she was trying to go too fast.

She took a breath, sipped at the seventh cup of whatever JJ had brought her today, and started at the beginning. Following ambiguous helmet bloke down the corridor, into the elevator, popping out again in the parking garage, disappearing behind a column…and nothing. She tried the same time stamp at different sides of the complex, different security systems of the surrounding buildings, and finally she caught some luck. Someone somewhere was showering her with glittery sparkles of four-leaf clover-y goodness.

Hotch's SUV. She had found it. She watched the feed in real time for about fifteen minutes, tired of that and sped it up. The next morning, Sunday morning, at around 7:38am, well exactly 7:38am since the security system was time stamped, a young, low-jeaned, baggy topped, baseball-capped teen came swaggering toward the SUV. Inserted a key, and drove away. It was quite easy then to follow the car, since it was early morning and she knew exactly which roads connected to which cameras. She now knew Emily's surrounding streets like the back of her computer.

Hooligan teen joy-drove for a while, went through a drive-in at the Golden Arches, picked up some other young thugs, parked in a canal. Then the glory of all glories, they lit the car on fire and laughed appreciatively in twenty frames per minute. Penelope Garcia sighed, she had found the car…dead end.

Reid's mind was hurtling at a thousand light years per second, ruminating and exploring the multitudes of events that could be happening to Hotch and Emily at precisely this moment. He truly wanted his brain to stop, he wasn't in the mood for it and he particularly didn't want to start having dreams that bled in from his subconscious fears for their safety. While he was deep in thought, his phone rang.

It took him a few seconds to realize that there was noise that needed his attention, shaking his head, he answered it. One of the chemical analysts had identified the aerosol chemical sprayed on Hotch, and probably Emily.

_Halothane_.

The tech's had found traces of it on the carpet near where Hotch fell, and on Emily's couch.

Reid searched his thoughts for all that he knew of Halothane. It was an chemical agent introduced in the 1950's. Mostly replaced in general practice because of its shortcomings. It had many adverse reactions, hepatic necrosis, cardiac arrest, hypotension, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrhythmias, hyperpyrexia, shivering, nausea and emesis. He hoped that neither Hotch nor Emily were susceptible to those reactions. The unfortunate thing about this particular drug was that it was common. The World Health Organization had it listed as a minimum need for basic health. Another useless avenue of investigation. Reid allowed his eyes to come back into focus as he heard the sounds of the team reassembling.

"So, what have got?" Morgan asked, clearly desiring a run-down on recent events.

"I found Hotch's car." Garcia began, but quickly stopped any thoughts of happiness accompanying that statement by continuing to say, "The UnSub must have given Hotch's keys to some young kids, they took the car, drove it for a while, dumped it and set it on fire."

There wasn't much more to say to that. Just another aspect of the case that hadn't helped them.

"I know what was in the aerosol can, it was Halothane." Reid started.

"What's Halothane?" Rossi asked.

"It's a general anaesthesia."

"Is it readily available?" Rossi continued.

"Yes, it's pretty basic, and an older chemical agent. It's most likely not a chemical that people worry too much about keeping track off."

Morgan shook his head, "Smokey Tom wasn't too much help. He mentioned that this guy watching Emily was a ninety-nine percenter. But we don't know what that means."

"Oh, that's easy." Said Garcia, "one-percenters are the people in motorcycle gangs. The ones who get into trouble with the police and such. Ninety-nine percenters are all the others, those who just ride bikes, or are in social motorcycle groups. Smokey Tom was saying that this guy wasn't in a gang."

"So, Emily's abduction wasn't gang-related? How do you know all this stuff?" she said incredulously looking toward Garcia.

"Being underground I learnt a lot about the way the streets work, and what subcultures can do to each other. Your Smokey Tom guy mustn't have thought Emily's abduction was gang related." Garcia replied.

"Or, he did think so and was throwing us off the track." Morgan put in.

"Why would he want to do that?" JJ asked.

"Maybe he knew the guy and was trying to protect him. Or he knew the guy and wants to take care of it himself."

"He had taken a particular liking to Emily." Rossi added, smiling at the nickname Tom had given her.

"Well, then it wouldn't make sense to try to protect this guy, it's possible he was throwing you off so he could take care of it. But why would he say anything at all if he really had seen someone. Wouldn't he have just kept quiet and dealt with it after you left?" Reid posited.

"True." Rossi replied, "Garcia, have you managed to find where the UnSub came from. If he was lying in wait or following Emily?"

"There doesn't seem to be any cars or motorcycles following them back from Smokey's Bar, but there are tons of ways to get from that area of Washington to Emily's place. I'm looking to see if any one left the premises soon after Emily and Hotch did, but…it was a busy night. It's hard, and time-consuming, trying to follow everyone who left the building around that time."

"Focus on people wearing leathers, that's what Smokey said he was wearing." Morgan said.

"Sweet pea," Garcia replied, "It's a gang bar, half the patrons were wearing leathers."

"Leathers without patches then." He retorted.

Garcia left to do just that, Reid, Rossi, JJ and Morgan lingered around the tables. There really wasn't anything to do. JJ and Reid simultaneously reached for the piles of missing persons, and cold cases. They were looking through them to see if anything could be found that was similar. It felt rather redundant since Garcia had already done a computer search with the same parameters, but it was better than nothing.

After a few moments, Morgan and Rossi joined them.

**So what do my loyal readers think of this new section?**

**I would really like your feedback,**

**Arc  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Everyone had been practically begging me to write a chapter about Emily and Hotch...**

**So, I have finally 'caved', or (mischievously grinning) did I plan it this way all along?**

**Well, I have partially acquiesced to your demands ;)  
**

_Hope is the expectation that something outside of ourselves, something or someone external, is going to come to our rescue_…

_Dr_. _Robert Anthony_

She tried to think. Thinking clearly was a good sign. Not being able to think was a bad sign. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. If the darkness of her eyes closed was darker than the room she just might be able to see something. She refused to acknowledge the fact that that particular piece of information, that recurring idea, hadn't actually worked so far.

She was in a room. That much she knew for sure. A room with four walls, a floor and possibly a ceiling…probably a ceiling. Not that she could see it or even feel for it. There were no chairs, or nooks, or ledges, to stand on to test that theory. But given the fact that it had been pitch black for…however long she had been in here…it was a pretty good deduction to assume that there was a ceiling. The room was rectangular in shape, six paces long, four paces wide. The floor was smooth, not too cold, the walls were the same. And it was dark. So dark. At first she had tried to keep track of time, anything that could signify how long she had been in here. There were no objects in the room. No objects, no lights, no movements, no sounds.

That was probably the worst bit actually, Emily thought. No sounds. Not just no sounds from the outside, there were no sounds in the inside either. Not even from her own voice, she had tried.

She hadn't freaked out when she had awoken, slightly groggy. Felt like a hangover, but she hadn't been that drunk. It had felt more like nausea than anything else. More nausea-sick than nausea-hangover. She assumed Hotch had brought her home. She remembered that much at least. Had he put her in bed, or had she made for the couch? There should have been some lights on in any case. Both her bedroom and her lounge room overlooked the city, the lights were both soothing and pretty to look at when she couldn't sleep. Which happened a lot.

There were no lights tonight, did the city lose power or something? She had attempted to stand up, that's when she realized she was on the ground. That was definitely not something Hotch would do to her. He was nothing if not a gentleman. After stumbling about the small room for a short while she knew…she wasn't in her house. She clearly remembered Hotch though, remembered how comfortable she felt pinned under his arm, hugged into his chest. The beat of his pulse in her ear. The smell of him surrounding her. The best cure for a demanding headache she had ever had. Perhaps he had taken her back to his place. She tried to call out to him.

A horrible, horrible noise had greeted her.

It was painful, not exactly an easily explained pain, it wasn't the normal type of pain. Her head pounded, she wasn't sure if it was the hangover, the nausea, or the noise. It was too loud, too much, too painful, she wanted it to stop. Eventually it did.

She tried to call for Hotch again. The same noise bleared into the room, resounding off the walls and straight into her head. She nearly collapsed under the pressure of the noise. It was terrible. She choked out a stifled breath. She would not cry. Pain induced tears did escape though she chose to ignore them.

She searched the room in silence. Contemplating what might have happened. This was no time to start falling apart. No matter how much she wanted to. It was increasingly frustrating because she had to feel around to get a handle on what kind of room she was in, what was happening.

She had tentatively tried to call out to Hotch again, this time in her fear the word came out softly, like a whisper. She had called out, 'Aaron'. The noise had returned, she had crouched low to the ground and covered her ears. She waited for the noise to stop. Finally it had, the silence found her sprawled out on the ground as if the noise was hovering over her and she was trying to get as far away as possible. It was quite clear that she was to remain absolutely quiet, no noise at all, if she wanted to avoid the piercing, painful sound.

That had been four sleeps ago.

She had purposefully tried to stay awake. She had at least figured out some of what was happening. She was being tortured. Isolation and sensory deprivation. She also knew that every individual had a different reaction to this kind of torment. Some could withstand long periods of isolation with no ill effects; others couldn't even handle short periods without beginning to deteriorate. She reconciled to herself, that at least the room, this cell, this prison, was clean. There weren't any rodents, or cockroaches, or spiders. She also knew that due to her isolation and deprivation of sensory contact and experience, it was likely she might start to hallucinate. She would have to watch out for that.

She could deal with the silence. She had been silent for a long time growing up. Going to parties and dinners and ceremonies where she didn't talk for the day, only to come home and have no need to talk to anyone there either. Once she managed to avoid talking for a month, until Serafina (one of her mother's maids) had figured out what was going on and purposely set out to make her talk. She still kept in contact, birthday cards and Christmases.

The darkness was what worried her. She wasn't afraid of it, but it made keeping track of time difficult. Especially since she'd realized that there was something in the room that made her sleep. About four or five sleeps ago, a smell had pervaded the room. Sweet, almost pleasant, it had spread around her. She hadn't known what it was the first time, thought maybe there were flowers in the ceiling, or a factory nearby. She did remember struggling harder to stay awake. When she woke up. There was a paper plate with a sandwich on it. And a bottle of water. Well, at the least whoever had her didn't want her to die just yet. They were providing sustenance. The next time the smell came, she had tried to fight it. Holding her breath for as long as she could, eventually she had succumbed to the blankness. The paper plate and bottle of water she had used were gone, and another pair had replaced it. She figured that this was her only means of passing the days. She had been fed four times. She assumed that meant four days had passed. But Gideon had once tricked a man by the same type of thing; she couldn't fully trust this place. Or anything in it.

She had deduced that she was being drugged with some kind of anaesthesia. At least, when she woke up she hadn't been physically violated. It was as if…something about all this was familiar. Why couldn't she place it? Was it a case she had read about, a case she had studied? The smell returned.

Early on Emily had realized that she was having a reaction to the anaesthetic, when she regained consciousness the second time, the nausea had returned double-force. After the third time, she had started shivering uncontrollably. Every time the sedative had worked its way out of her system, she only had a short time before the smell returned. How long did it knock her out for?

She hoped that Hotch was all right. Was he in another room, waiting in darkness as well, wondering about her?

Did the team know they were missing? They probably did, she hoped so at least. They were observant, trained to see things where no one else did. She cringed at the thought that they were probably going through her apartment. Seeing it the way she had left it. Too many things had been weighing on her mind to even contemplate fixing it up to her usual standards. They most likely already had gone through her apartment, if her assumption of time passing was correct, she gave into the thought that they had all seen her apartment and hoped they wouldn't be profiling what it meant for her mental state.

She pictured Morgan, his flirtatious grin brightening anyone's day. Garcia's beautiful quirkiness, her shining personality and her love for life. Reid's innocence and wonder. Rossi's determination and knowledge. JJ's sweetness and courage, to stand up in front of the ruthless reporters and guide them to what the BAU's purposes were.

She hoped the team would figure out what was going on, where she was, where Hotch was…

She hoped…

**I hope I have sated everyone's desires, actually...no I don't...it's much more fun when you guys have no idea what is going on...**

**It means I wield all the power, hehe...you must review to find out more! **

**(Nah, I would post anyway)  
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**Arc  
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	9. Chapter 9

**As promised the next chapter, I hope I haven't kept too many people waiting :)**

_I have no color prejudices nor cast prejudices nor creed prejudices_.

_All I care to know is that a man is a human being, and that is enough for me; _

_he can't be any worse_.

_Mark Twain_

Time was clearly defined for him.

The man came in twice a day to torture him. The unfamiliar man, with whom he was too familiar with now, took great pleasure in announcing the exact time and date. Keeping track of his grunts and groans of pain, logging how much time passed between the start and finish of a session, of each individual electrical burst of the cattle prod against his skin. Seeing how long he could remain quiet under the influence of the cattle prod searing heat into his skin. Sometimes the man fluttered the prod close to the skin, but not directly on it, causing him to imagine a flame was being brought close to his skin and then taken away again. Other times, when he had been particularly susceptible to the pain, the man congratulated him on his sounds of protest, on the moans that escaped due to his hot flesh inflaming.

This man was sadistic.

Hotch knew it had been a couple of days since the abduction. He also had vague ideas about the progress of the team. He knew, for instance, that on the third day of their disappearance Morgan had visited Emily's apartment, and broken through her door when she hadn't answered. It sounded so like Derek that Hotch knew the UnSub wasn't lying. The man had taken an immense amount of satisfaction in relaying what he thought about Morgan and Emily's _involvement_. That was about the time Hotch realised the UnSub thought he and Emily were partners…in a romantic sense.

The man also gave updates on the exact condition of Emily's apartment.

The man had identified himself as The Observer.

The Observer was strict in the protocols of their interactions.

Hotch was to answer any and all questions without pause.

The UnSub liked to use the cattle prod during their 'interview' sessions. When an answer didn't satisfy him the cattle prod would venture closer to sensitive regions of Hotch's body. When an answer did satisfy him, the cattle prod remained stationary on his torso. So no matter how quickly Hotch answered a question, he would always be on the receiving end of the cattle prod. It was especially hard not to hesitate when The Observer started asking personal questions about Emily, questions that Hotch had no idea how to answer.

Hotch however, became indignant at these questions, he figured if he was supposed to be her partner, her lover, he might as well start acting like it and pretend to be affronted and outraged rather than try to make something up. The Observer seemed uncharacteristically thrilled when Hotch refused to answer those types of questions. The questions were never-ending and repetitive, Hotch had to concentrate all the time to remember his answers to some of the more unusual questions. It would be horrific if he accidentally gave two antonymous answers to the same question. The Observer was extremely thorough. So he spent down time reminding himself of this life he had created for Emily and himself. He only hoped that if The Observer was asking these questions of Emily as well, that she could play along too.

Hotch had spent a great deal of time examining the room he was confined in. It was a non-descript room. White/beige walls were all around, same for the ceiling. No windows, and a bright glaring light that was never turned off. Thankfully, Hotch had learned early in life to sleep whenever and wherever possible. Lights, noises, movements, they didn't bother him, not that there were a whole lot of noise or movement, other than when The Observer arrived and departed. There was no door. But there was a man-hole in the ceiling. It was disturbing to see your torturer enter and exit through the roof, with a ladder that could only be accessed from the outside. Even if Hotch was strong enough to somehow find a way up to the ceiling, he probably wouldn't be able to pull himself out. That's if the UnSub didn't put some kind of weight on top of it to prevent such a thing from happening.

When he was alone, and his mind was going over the life he had imagined, he was restricted to lying on the floor or leaning against one of the walls. He was routinely tied up by The Observer with ropes around his ankles and wrists after the 'sessions' were concluded. This limited his movement extensively. He couldn't stand up with the way his legs were crossed and the painful manner in which his arms were locked.

He strained against the coarse ropes for the ump-hundredth time. His wrists and ankles all bore the marks of rope burn. They were red and swollen with persistence. Once in a while, his abductor, gave him a reprieve from the ropes. But that's when the real pain began again. What worried him more than the ropes, or the prod, was that the abductor had Emily holed away somewhere else. He didn't know how she was faring, or what condition her room was in. He wasn't even sure that she had actually been abducted, as he had not seen her since lying her down on her lounge room couch.

What was also distressing was the way The Observer seemed to get off on recounting torture of Emily. The Observer took great delight in reliving those tortures with Hotch, asking him if he could imagine the look on Emily's face when he pressed the prod into her lower back, while electricity would span out from that very place on his own lower back. This happened multiple times, after the 'sessions' would get stuck in circles, or when he refused to be explicit in the perceived sexual relationship he and Emily were supposed to have shared, to be sharing.

The Observer would comment on the sounds he would make and compare them to sounds Emily made under the same type of stress. Hotch didn't know which was worse, that Emily had to undergo this type of torture too, or that The Observer was probably telling her about his torture as well. Thereby doubling her sense of pain, Emily was a very empathetic person. It was a talent that connected her with the victims and the families. It was also disturbing when she managed to do it with UnSubs and make their pathologies seem wonderful and beautiful instead of despicable and horrid. Perhaps that was merely his impressions of Emily Prentiss and the manner in which she worked, not any kind of wonderfulness inherent in the UnSubs.

It was obvious that The Observer was more interested in Emily than he was in Hotch. Every conversation revolved around her.

The only thing Hotch couldn't figure out was where this man got the idea that he and Emily were lovers. He had thought about asking but realised that the man's process seemed connected to the idea that he and Emily were a couple. He didn't want to create more problems by introducing the notion of deceit into their, already dangerous, association.

**What did you think?**

**This was so hard to write...it took me a few goes and countless edits but I got there!**

**Arc  
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	10. Chapter 10

**Hey, hey...a new chapter for your pleasure! I hope you like...**

_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create)_. 

_It had no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival_.

_C_._ S_._ Lewis_

She was breaking.

There were starting to be movements in the darkness. Shadows that couldn't possibly exist, figures that weren't really there. Sounds that had no place to originate from. Soon choruses were erupting in the tiny room, symphonies and opuses, operatic crescendos and arias of baritones and sopranos, colors and dances and great chasms of fantastic light greeted her throughout the meaningless black.

Perhaps, there was actually sound being pumped into the tiny room. Maybe it was an attempt to further disrupt her, further her descent into despair and hopelessness. She would not give into it.

"Hotch?" She screamed over the impenetrable noise of song and music.

The piercing, ear-splitting noise pounded into her head. She staggered under the weight of it. She had stood up to scream toward the ceiling. She assumed that someone had to be watching her, feeding her, monitoring her. The ceiling, being the only place she couldn't feel must be where everything came from. The music immediately disappeared under the painful burden of the single noise.

She told herself not to cry, whispered it in her head, clutched at it through her fingertips.

She cried.

She tamped down on the choking noises erupting from her throat. It wouldn't help to make a noise and have the awful sound return. Her ears still rang from it, still thumped with the pain of it.

That sickeningly sweet smell returned. Every time the smell was worse, the nausea tripling, quadrupling, the shivering when she awoke would worsen, be more and more uncontrollable.

She would lie on the floor for an age, letting the shudders wrack her body, sheens of sweat would cover her forehead and she would gaze peerlessly into the ceiling or the wall, she never could tell which direction was which anymore. Hoping against hope that someone would save her, someone would stop this endless night, this endless nothing. Her hands, her touch, they were the only thing she could perceive as real. Even the walls were beginning to feel unnatural. Not there.

Were the walls even there anymore?

She tried to reach out and touch them…there was nothing there. Her arm flailed pathetically. A mass of strongness caught it.

She gasped, and then cringed waiting for the noise to blare.

It didn't.

She realized it hadn't been as loud as she thought. The gasp was only inside her own mind, she had been too conditioned against making sound.

She exhaled slowly in disbelief, shuddering as she felt another mass stroke her arm over the shirt she forgot she was wearing.

That's when she noticed that there was a murky redness in her vision. It was familiar and odd. Where had she seen that before?

"Emily?" A rough voice inquired.

This time had been especially brutal. The Observer had been relentless. No questions this time, just violence. The Observer had not only used the cattle prod to exact electrical burns and scorching to his sensitive and ravaged skin but had also used it as a whip or truncheon, battering Hotch across his body. Every so often the live head of the prod would graze him as well as issue a force of kinetic impact. So he knew he had a couple of scorch marks on his upper arms and one nasty one across his jaw. Even now it was still pulsating with a dulling ache. When the suffering was finally over, The Observer helped him put his shirt back on, it was a strange mark of respect or possibly remorse. It had been the only constant source of care aside from the daily food and water.

Before The Observer started the torture sessions, he would make sure Hotch ate the lonely sandwich, and before he left, he would always put Hotch's shirt back on him. He hadn't even begun to postulate the many reasons behind this strange aspect of the ritual. Usually Hotch was so drained that even though he weakly tried to fight The Observer's actions when tying him up, when he was bound with the coarse and roughened ropes, that The Observer was delayed only a little, not enough for even his snap-anger to matter. This time though Hotch could barely open his eyes to watch him and was not in a good enough mental state to realise that the man hadn't tied him up. The Observer left the room; crawling up the ladder and through the man-hole in the ceiling.

A few moments later that suspicious smell was back.

The smell from the aerosol can.

Hotch knew it wasn't chloroform this time.

He was still rendered unconscious.

He woke unexpectedly, and immediately scanned the room. Was it the same room? He couldn't be sure.

There was another person in the room. They were unconscious too. He, as quickly as he could, made for the figure. Rolling it over he realized it was Emily. He almost whooped in joy. To see her, to actually see her, for the first time since their abduction was deliciously wonderful. He couldn't see any physical marks on her face or hands. But felt it would be improper for him to search her anywhere else. He so dearly wanted to check her for any damage, but he knew he would have to wait for her to wake up.

Hotch was worried. She hadn't woken up yet and it had been quite a while.

He contemplated taking a nap but discarded that idea, he wanted to be awake when she woke up. He wanted her to know they were together and he was okay and that they would get through this. He also wanted to find out what she knew about The Observer. What stories had she made up about their relationship? They needed to get their stories straight for whatever he had planned next.

Her arm flew out from her side haphazardly. He didn't know whether she was dreaming or something else, maybe trying to fight off The Observer? He caught her arm with his hand, and steadied it carefully.

She flinched, and moved her mouth in a silent gasp. Then she cringed and brought her hands up to her ears, covering them protectively.

Hotch stared at her incredulously. What was going on?

She eventually let out the breath she was holding. Her eyes remained closed, as if it hadn't crossed her mind to open them. Then her body started shivering. She shook and trembled, a frown marred her face. She looked like she was about to throw up. It was a look he remembered from Hayley's pregnancy, and more recently with JJ during takeoff on the jet. She didn't throw up though. Merely tried to cuddle more into the floor, shrinking from the bigger room. It was not a movement he connected with the strong and capable Agent Prentiss. He wondered what The Observer had done to her.

Without thinking he reached out his arm and ran it slowly, comfortingly, down her arm. She shuddered again, this time he perceived a bit of revulsion and horror. He hadn't meant to scare her.

"Emily?" He asked, knowing she would recognize his voice.

He was surprised when she seemed to dart backwards at the sound of his voice. Her head shook from side to side as if she didn't want to believe he was really there.

"Emily. It's me Hotch." He said again. Reaching out toward her, he grabbed one shoulder and leant into her, his head lowering nearer to her face, he dropped his voice to a whisper and moved his arm protectively around her as he spoke, "It's me. Prentiss…it's me."

"It's me," she heard the voice that sounded like Hotch say. She was having a full blown hallucination. She shook her heard to try and dislodge the fantasies. Hotch was not in this small dark room with her.

"Open your eyes." The voice seemed to be getting angrier, or frustrated, she wasn't sure and she never could tell with Hotch, the real Hotch, anyway. "Prentiss, NOW."

Hotch didn't know exactly what was wrong, he was worried The Observer had done something to her eyes. He wanted to check, make sure everything was okay. He hadn't meant to pull rank or order her about, but he was rewarded when Emily slowly blinked her eyes open.

Light assaulted her, she groaned at the brightness. It hurt and sparkled dangerously in her optic nerve. She quickly closed her eyes again. But she had seen a dark figure resting near her. The Voice.

He saw her flinch. Her eyes probably just needed to adjust to the light. "Emily…you okay."

She nodded in answer, unsure if he was real or not. He reached for her again, his hand resting on her shoulder. His thumb touched her cold skin through the opening of her collar. The contact seemed to be too much for her. She burst into tears. He was surprised. He didn't need fingers to count how many times he'd seen Emily cry. He never had. He'd seen her angry, fierce, determined, happy, laughing, teasing, worried, scared. He had heard the sounds of her being beaten, standing up for herself and others. He'd witnessed an apparent split personality. But he'd never seen her cry.

She was crying…in front of her supervisor. If he was really there.

She felt the weight of his manly hand on her shoulder, and hoped that it was real. Hoped that it wasn't a ghostly hand on her shoulder. That they were together, and that she didn't have to go through this alone anymore. But why was he allowed to speak? She didn't understand that. And why did he get to have light? Why was she the one relegated to darkness? She wanted to reach out and touch, make sure he was there. Would it matter if he was only a figment of her imagination if he made her feel better? She decided it didn't, she could deal with sanity later. The way she always did.

Hotch saw her hand start to move out toward his body. He guessed she was checking to see if he was really there. He shifted his body closer to her, grabbed her hand, pulling into down toward the floor whilst his other arm reached out and folded her body to his chest. As soon as her body touched him, felt the weight of his arm covering her. His legs touching her legs. She relaxed, and cried harder, burying her head and shoulders into his chest. She was silent though, the whole time, he noticed. She had yet to make one sound. He moved slightly and she tucked her head more fully into the crook of his neck. He could feel her every breath.

She hadn't felt this protected in a long time. She reveled in it while noticing that she hadn't stopped crying. Probably cathartic…she resolved to ignore it in favor of relishing human contact. She wasn't big on physical contact, but she needed this, needed to know she was human, that she could accept and convey physical touch.

"Emily," she heard, "are you hurt?"

She shook her head in answer, finding it humorous that her nose brushed against his neck when she did so.

"Can you talk?"

She shook her head again.

He brunched his eyebrows together in confusion. If she wasn't hurt why couldn't she talk?

**Reviews are golden sunshine to my heart and muse,**

**Arc  
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	11. Chapter 11

**I had so many great reviews, and was so encouraged by them. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it meant a great deal to me. I had actually been very worried about how that chapter would come across.**

Light and Waking.

Her eyes began to adjust to the light. Slowly and carefully she opened them, blinking erratically, giving her night-adjusted eyes a chance to dilate and prepare for the light assault that would follow, unless she was prepared.

She suspected at some point she had fallen asleep against Hotch. His body was still pressed up against hers, except instead of being vertical, both of them lying on their sides, she seemed to have rolled over. Her head was resting on his chest, and his arm was wrapped around her back. The warmth from another human being, whether real or imagined, was refreshing and satisfying and comforting. The fact that it was a human with whom she was friends with made it even more exhilarating. It wasn't helpful to huddle in a cool room with a human warmth emanator with whom you had no previous acquaintance. She knew, she had done it before once. Many years ago, to survive.

Hotch felt her wake up. She was resting on him, closer than she had ever been to him before. Her head on his chest, he could feel her every breath through his shirt, her hair tickling his chin. She was still shivering but she seemed not to notice it. He had thought, while she was asleep, through all of the things he wanted to ask her about, but the first one was why she wasn't talking.

"Em, hey. Can you talk?"

She was blinking as she replied, without words. Pushing herself off him slowly answering with a short shake of her head.

"Why?"

She looked up at him, eyes still sleepy, rolling onto her back, she mimed saying something, and then cringed and held her hands to ear. Making a show of great pain.

"Can you try it? Maybe now that we're together it will be different. Even if it's not we still need to know." Hotch wanted to her to talk to him. It would add more stress and confusion to their situation if now that they were together they couldn't converse. He hoped The Observer wasn't that devious. He saw her eyes flick to his ear, the one damaged by the explosion all those months before. He hadn't realized she was so adept at tracking his progress. After the initial problems, he had become adroit in avoiding areas and events that would cause his ears any pain. Had he really thought a group full of profilers would miss his intentional avoidance of high noise areas?

He sighed, "We need to know whether we can talk or not…I can live through a little pain."

She seemed highly unsure.

Emily didn't like to intentionally set out on endeavors that would hurt people. Especially people whom she marked as friends. But this was Hotch and he was assuring her that any pain in this instance would be worth it.

She reached out her hands, covering his ears. At least if the noise returned, his sound-sensitive ear would be partially protected by her hands.

Hotch looked at her intently. He trusted her, she realized. For some strange and odd reason, that surprised her. Trusting her on the job was one thing, but trusting her with his hearing, with something that he so obviously struggled with was…intimate. She wondered what else she would be learning about him during…all of this, whatever this was.

She took a breath and said his name.

"Hotch." His name came out of her mouth somewhere between a statement and a question.

Her hands were clammy, and still shivering. It made for a weird sensation on his ears and the sides of his head. Her eyes widened in surprise when nothing happened. She licked her lips, it would have seductive if not for that fact that she looked dehydrated.

"Hotch?" This time it really was a question.

"Yes, Emily?"

"I can talk." She rasped, days of disuse catching up to her.

"Yes, you can." He tried not to let the humor seep into his voice. He realized he must have failed with she suddenly burst out laughing. He held onto her while she giggled, the laughter swapping her worrisome shivering with amused quaking. She laughed loudly for a time, and when he began to worry that she was becoming hysterical she slowed down. She was breathing heavily. Her chest rising and falling quickly as she attempted to fill her lungs with enough oxygen to overcome the effects of her laughing spell.

Hotch was spellbound by the look in her eyes as she laughed, although she was no longer laughing, her eyes still held the humor and the brightness of her joy and her life. Is this what Morgan saw every time he made her laugh, is that why he strove so often to do it? He wished he knew how to make her laugh like that.

Emily's breathing finally settled, she blinked rapidly as she searched the room. She must have realized one of her hands was still on Hotch's face, still covering his ear to protect him. She pulled it away quickly, inadvertently brushing against the scorch mark on his jaw. He hissed with the unexpected contact.

"Sorry." The apology dropped from her lips.

"It's okay." He attempted to sit up, and when she moved to help him her hand landed on another part of his body afflicted by the cattle prod.

She frowned at Hotch.

He was moving gingerly, she could see a couple of bruise marks on the places his shirt didn't cover, and that nasty looking burn on his face troubled her.

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Hotch…" she dipped her head so that his downcast eyes were looking at her eyes.

He stared at her. They stayed like that for a while. Neither speaking, nor moving. She just wanted to make sure he was okay, couldn't he understand that?

He wanted to be the strong one, couldn't she understand that? Didn't she realize he needed to be the strong one? He needed her to rely on him, to need him to be the strong one.

While Hotch continued to stare at her, she made her decision. She made short work of unbuttoning his shirt. At some point during the past days, or week, or however long they had been in here, he had discarded his tie. It lay in a corner of the room. It's dark material in sharp contrast with the blank beigeness of the room. Emily tried not to notice that she was undressing her boss, her superior, her…Hotch.

She was undressing Hotch!

She mentally smacked herself in the head, she was not _undressing_ him, she was making sure he was all right, that the man who took them had not harmed him. It was purely about taking care of him, in a medicinal sense, in a care-taking manner. She was not doing this to check him out, or in any other sense, it was definitely only about making sure he was physically okay.

She cringed when she realized that her brain was taking inventory of what his body looked like, and not taking note of his wounds and bruises. Her brain was noticing his muscle definition and the exact breadth of his shoulders.

She shook her head to dislodge those thoughts and the feelings evoked by them.

"This isn't good." She said aloud. Half speaking about his wounds, and half about her own thoughts.

Her voice brought him back out of his daze. He had been reveling in her thorough examination. He knew she was only looking at him with a critical eye to assess the damage. But it felt like much more. It felt like she was looking at him hungrily, assessing his breeding potential, or whatever it is that a single woman looked at a single man like, when they were assessing what they wanted to do with them. It had been awhile since he had been in anything regarding this position. He had never gotten to chance to explore life after Hayley with Kate Joyner. He knew it was absurd, Emily hadn't ever indicated that she thought of him any more than that of a friend and co-worker, unfortunately that was mostly his own fault for the way he had treated her. They were slowly overcoming that obstacle in their friendship, but he did not want to start imagining things in their relationship that clearly had no reason to be there, no matter how much he hoped it were true.

The Observer grinned at the monitor, seeing the couple cling together as Emily realized she was allowed to talk in this room, seeing her begin to understand what the male had been through in her absence.

Everything was coming together nicely, soon it would be time to explain. But he wasn't The Exponent. That role fell to the young man sitting to his right. The Exponent had been inducted on Sunday, the day after the couple had first been separated. The day Emily had been separated from the man, the one she called Hotch.

It was The Exponent who would explain and interpret what this had all been done for. The same as the last time.

The Observer had hoped that Emily would recognize what was happening. He had contemplated whether he should bring the other component into the fray. But with Emily here, he had been confused as to the necessity of doing that.

It was rather perplexing given that he had taken on the role of The Observer, and Emily the role of the wife, the help-meet, the mate, the female half. Who would take on the role of The Decider?

Was it even necessary to have The Decider anymore? He could operate in that capacity too, this time.

He owed her that much, at least.

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**Am I confusing everyone even more now?**

**I do so love to confuse...**

**You what else I love?**

**Reviews! And if you're especially nice I may even reply with insights and previews to upcoming chapters...you never know what a good review will make me do! **

**;) **

**Arc  
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	12. Chapter 12

**It seemed about time to go back and see what the team where getting up to, don't worry the next chapter will be Hotch and Emily. It's okay, don't fret! All will be revealed...eventually ;)**

Weekend Work

The team worked through the weekend. Not much of it was actual working though. Garcia was still running through traffic cameras, and security systems of apartment complexes, and businesses that lined the streets from Smokey's Bar to Emily's flat. She had commandeered most of the team, making them run through the monitors with her. She felt that many eyes were better than her wearying ones. As much as she was an insomniac, she really did need to sleep. But she didn't want to go home in case they found something. Rossi had demanded she catch some rest on his couch, in his office. She had rested there, but sleep would not come.

JJ had been looking at the same stretch of road for an unknowable amount of time. It was dark and murky, neon lights flickered every which way and stumbling drunk business people wandering about the street in varying degrees of sobriety and wanton behavior. She had had to stop the replay every time a figure appeared wearing leather. Then she would have to squint at the monitor, attempting to determine whether said figure was part of a biker gang, a motorcyclist, or simply someone who enjoyed the feeling of a dead carcasses' skin on their backs. At least, that's how Garcia had been referring to it every time she saw one. That was around the time Rossi had decided she was approaching insanity due to lack of sleep and had demanded she catch some rest in his office. JJ had fully expected Penelope to start running around the BAU dancing like a fairy and singing about the Home on the Range or Danny Boy, any second. The whole team had been relieved when she'd left them to continue her work…well not the whole team. They wouldn't be a whole team again until they found Emily and Hotch. She didn't want to think about how long it had been since they were together. It had been over a week now.

It was the week's end. Reid noted it had been over one hundred and seventy hours since Emily or Hotch had last been seen. The team consisting of Morgan, Rossi, JJ, Garcia and himself had not left the office on the Friday, they had remained in the BAU carefully cataloging every single patron entering or exiting Smokey's Bar. Garcia had created a program which allowed them to attach a number to each figure. They had been slowly counting out who was a viable UnSub and who was just having a walk on the dark side. Or who was a member of the dark side. They had finally managed to get through seventy-five percent of the patrons. But it was exhausting work, and none of them, save JJ, had been home in days. JJ had been torn between staying to help and the necessity of going home to be with her son. Everyone had pushed her to stay at home this weekend, but she had refused saying that Will had known and understood how important it was to do this.

"Morgan, stop." Spencer said.

Morgan's monitor was about as far away as you could get from Reid. But Reid had been periodically glancing at the others' screens allowing his multi-tasking to work it's wonders. Spencer had discovered that if he focused solely on one thing, he wasn't as productive as when he did many things at once. He multi-tasked much better than he single-tasked. It had been an odd discovery back in fourth grade. Or the equivalent of fourth grade for him. He was the age of a fourth grader but he had been in high school. He remembered, he had been in history class, learning about the Khmer Rouge, the genocide and educational recession that occurred in Cambodia during Pol Pot's rule. Two boys at the side of the class had been discussing the advantages and disadvantages of breaking before corners or not when driving. He had started processing the mathematical formulas while still listening to the atrocities. At the end of the class he had realized that he had managed to take in more information than if he had solely studied one topic. From then on, he had always made sure he was working on more than one thing. It was a practice he still used to this day.

"What is it Reid?" Morgan asked, quickly pausing the play-back.

"I think I saw someone on your screen." Reid stood up and moved over to Morgan's area. Morgan was looking at him strangely.

Morgan was trying not to let his thoughts show on his face, but he was extremely tired and not at all in the mood to curb his expressions to prevent Reid from feeling odd. Of course there were people on his screen, they were searching for the despicable person who had abducted Hotch and Emily and were doing God know what to them. It was an absurd statement for Reid to make, perhaps he was just too tired to understand him today.

Reid shuffled over, around the other members of the team, and backed up the replay. He pointed to one of the figures at the far side of the screen.

"I've seen this guy before…"

"Where?" Rossi asked from behind them. Morgan noticed that JJ was missing, but turned back to focus on the screen and Reid.

"I'm not sure, I've seen so many people my mind's a little foggy."

"Don't stress." Morgan said, "We're all feeling it."

Reid took in a breath. He watched the figure for a while, slowed down the speed and studied him in slow-motion. "He seems familiar. Garcia?"

Morgan was surprised when her voice answered, "Yes, Hal?"

"Can you show me the hallway footage of the UnSub at Emily's place?"

"Affirmative." She squeezed past the throng of the team, and quickly brought up the footage. Reid played both simultaneously.

"They have the same gait."

JJ frowned then, "What does that mean?"

"I'm ninety percent sure this is the same person." Reid answered.

"Are you saying we've found the UnSub?" Morgan asked.

"Garcia, can you track this man?" He pointed to the street scene.

"Oh, definitely…you're going down buddy." She said to screen.

Penelope Garcia had had enough of the stifling, hovering, insaneness of her usually beautiful and respectful friends.

"If you don't all exit this room in five seconds, I'm going to access all of your bank accounts and give the contents to charity." Her voice was no longer bubbly and bright, it was dark, menacing, brittle.

Morgan stood up quickly, he had been leaning across the back of her chair. He recognized that voice, Garcia rarely used it. It meant that she was extremely angry and was capable of doing anything. He waved his hands, like a circus ring-master, pushing and prodding JJ, Reid and Rossi out of the room. They didn't need their technical analyst going postal on them, not at this very critical part of the investigation. They had almost figured out how the UnSub had chosen Emily and Hotch. Whether he was following Emily and Hotch was a convenient pick-up, or if it had been planned for longer, or simply seen them together at Smokey's Bar and gone off the deep end.

If anyone had been in the office on the weekend, it would have made a highly spectacular sight to see Agents Reid, Rossi, Morgan and Jareau hovering outside a room. They were practically glued to the closed door. If they were any less self-controlled their ears might have been pressed against the door, straining to hear whatever was occurring within.

She breathed a heavy sigh of temporary relief.

She had never been more thankful to see the backs of her friends.

Her mind went into overdrive, her fingers flying over the keyboard, making intuitive computations and spreading new language into her systems. Sorting through the streets and alleyways of the city, following the unidentified figure from his entrance to Smokey's Bar, concealed from view by the motorcycle helmet, to his exit. The figure had been watching Emily and Smokey talk by the curb, watched as she got into Hotch's car. But didn't follow them. The figure had walked in the opposite direction for a couple of blocks. It was no wonder they had never found someone following them home. The UnSub hadn't followed them. He knew the exact route to Emily's place. He took none of the same roads, he traveled the back routes, taking longer streets, alleyways, squeezing through passageways that no car could traverse. He never once crossed the same road as Hotch had. He was riding a motorcycle though, so at least they knew Smokey's information had been an accurate guess. Garcia was surprised when she watched the UnSub enter Emily's parking garage with a card-key. She creased her forehead at this added strangeness. She heard Morgan's voice in her head, he had planned this…planned and prepared for a very long time if he had access to her parking garage. She switched over to the security system of Emily's apartment complex. They weren't very many good views of the garage. There were some, and she took pleasure in noticing that Emily's car was parked in full view of one of the cameras. Emily always was a smart cookie.

"Is." She said out-loud reminding herself that Emily _is_ alive until proved otherwise.

She had an obstructed view of the UnSub's motorcycle. He had slowed it down, and was walked it toward an open part of the garage. There was a large column preventing Garcia from seeing what he was doing. He disappeared for a moment, then nothing. She waited awhile. Soon a large white van drove off. She decided to split screens, she watched the empty garage on one screen, and started following the van on the other. It drove around the garage, and parked at what Garcia could only guess at being near the basement lift. Again the angle was obscured by another massive column. If she didn't want to think it, she'd think that the UnSub had planned it this way. The driver got out, she hoped it wasn't the UnSub, he was hidden by the tinted windscreen.

It was the UnSub.

She fast-forwarded the replay, and saw him carry out Hotch and throw him in the vicinity of the back of the van. A few minutes later, Emily was being carried to the same area of the van too. Although she was much more carefully placed into what Garcia suspected was the back of the van. Unfortunately, most of her understanding of what was happening was guess work. She was just hypothesizing that Emily and Hotch were being placed into the back of the van. For all she knew, the UnSub was lowering them into a hole in the floor, or trans-dimensional puppy killing world. She couldn't see properly because of that damn column. Soon after the van drove away.

She should get the guys, they could profile while she followed the van. But if the UnSub was as organised as he seemed to be, he wouldn't be keeping them anywhere near cameras.

**I thought it might be necessary to acknowledge what the team are going through...**

**I found a whole bunch of typos in this too, so be glad I did a readthrough before posting! :)**

**As always reviews are golden piles of leprechaun joy to my heart!**

**Arc  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**This chapter is for frommy6, as I promised…hope it's meets any expectations you had :)**

Hotch was lying on his back. While Emily ran her fingers delicately over his torso, outlining the wounds caused by the cattle prod. She was very careful; except for the initial contact she had not hurt him again. She had taken their solitary water bottle, ripped off a piece of her shirt and started dabbing at his wounds. Cleaning the flesh, and attempting to stave off any infections, making sure no further dirt got in them.

It had been a very, very long time since someone had taken care of him this way. He hated to be vulnerable, needy, reliant on someone else. But he was well aware that his wounds needed this attention and he couldn't do it himself. And having Emily be the one doing it was a very unique experience. He hadn't wanted to make her feel uncomfortable so he had been staring at the ceiling, he could still see her movements, and he knew she understood all too well what the burn marks meant.

Suddenly her face was towering over him. She grabbed hold of his chin lightly and turned his head away from her, she delicately cleaned his jaw. She was looking at him so intently, he was sure it was only an extension of her caring nature and her compassion, but having her so close to him, to his face…so close to her lips…he started to feel that wonderful uncomfortableness that emerged between people when they were attracted to each other. Well, at least the uncomfortableness when one was attracted and the other was as of yet unknown reciprocation.

He resisted the urge to swallow, she was too much of a natural profiler to miss that. Of it's own volition his hand reached up and grabbed her wrist. Nodding he attempted to stand up, he hoped she would take that as a signal her job was finished, that he appreciated her work and didn't need anymore help. Unfortunately his movement only served for her focus to change, she saw the mess the ropes had caused on his wrists.

"Hotch," she breathed, her voice inflected with pain and sadness. Empathy and compassion for him. She twisted her arm, and the wrist that was encircled by his hand turned to grab his own forearm. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she studied his reddened wrist. She turned his hand backwards and forwards, this way and that, cataloging every mark, every bruise. She quickly relented on her inspection of that wrist only to stop and swap it for the other. She did a thorough examination of that one too. Frowning, she moved backwards, resting on the balls of her feet.

"Are these the only parts like this?" She asked, knowing that the chances of that were slim. He so dearly wanted to deny that his ankles were burning like fire. His eyes flickered to his feet. She quickly moved there. Rolling up his pant leg and looking at his ankle. She poured more water onto the scrap of material that had once belonged to her shirt, resting the fabric on her thigh, she grabbed his left leg and sat crossed legged at the foot of his sprawling figure. Hotch tensed. He hated people being near his feet. He wasn't ticklish. His feet were just very sensitive…in another sense. A completely different sense, a sense that meant having a woman near his feet would evoke other sensations, ones that he didn't need to be dealing with right now. He absolutely loved foot massages, and usually when Hayley had been coerced into giving him one, let's just say that they were in a for a long, enjoyable night. If he remembered correctly a foot massage had led to Jack.

He tried to concentrate on the _why_ Emily was near his feet.

To clean his wounds.

Wounds that had been inflicted by the man holding them hostage.

Not for any other reason.

_Definitely_ not for any other reason.

For her part, Emily tried to ignore what Hotch's body was telling her. She had seen him tense, and knew exactly why he had. One of her boyfriends from college had told her once that his feet were an erogenous zone. They had spent many hours exploring just what she could make him do while massaging his feet. She tried very hard not to smile. It was such a surprising and interesting piece of knowledge to know about him, about Hotch. Actually it was quite an intimate piece of knowledge to know about Hotch, one that in all rights she shouldn't know . She tried extremely hard not to touch his foot while cleaning the ankle wound, she didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than she already was. It wasn't his fault his feet evoked that response, it also had nothing to do with her.

She became so fixated on the ring of rope burn that she forgot Hotch was struggling with feelings not of his own making. She had finished cleaning the wound and meant to lay his foot back down on the ground. Moving her hand from the bottom of his calf where she had been holding his leg still to the underside of the sole of his foot, the palm of her hand cupped the underside of the back of his foot. Her fingers absently stroked his fibula bone. She hadn't thought anything about it at the time, she had merely wished to slowly and carefully lower his foot to the ground, unfortunately Hotch's body seemed to have taken the innocent touch a completely different way.

He had been controlling himself well. He kept the mantra going in his head about _why_ Prentiss was at his feet. He didn't know whether it was better to watch her or not, watching meant he knew what was coming and could brace for it but it also meant that his subconscious mind could, later on, torment him with images of her doing other things. He chose not to watch.

Abruptly, for he had been, against his will, enjoying the feel of her hands on his leg and ankle, her hands had moved. Her palm had pressed into the bottom of his foot, the pressure just short of Hayley's usual massage, and two of her fingers had ghosted over the round smooth bone that protruded from the side of his foot. He sucked in a surprised breath. Immediately withdrawing his foot and standing, he made a show of putting his shirt back on. Hoping she wasn't watching him. He snuck a glance at her. She had not moved from her sitting position but she wasn't looking at him either. She seemed to have a small smile on her face, but that could be anything. They needed to discuss business. He had to let her know what stories he had had to make up regarding their perceived relationship.

She tried not grin, she thought of every interrogation she'd been in where she wanted to kill the perpetrator and had somehow managed to control the impulse. So she would just do that again, now, but for an entirely different reason. It was funny though to see the normally reserved and in control agent flapping about like a surprised chicken. And to think of what had caused it, no one would ever believe her. Not that she was going to tell anyone. If it made Hotch feel better she wouldn't mention it, not even acknowledge it, pretend like she didn't know anything unusual was occurring.

The Observer watched the pair with interest; he wondered when they would get around to hypothesizing what was happening like the last couple had. He remembered that clearly, they had been so wrong; Claudia Stockwell and Roberto Manassas had been too frightened to think clearly, and when they had eventually conversed upon the strange situation they had found themselves in, they had been so far off the mark The Observer had laughed in delighted glee. They had clung together (rather humorously now that he reflected upon it) in fear, clutching at each other, begging the ceiling to reveal its purpose.

**They were supposed to talk about their 'relationship' but Emily and Hotch had other ideas…damn characters taking charge of the writing and doing whatever they want with it…if they keep this up the story's going to be way longer than I originally thought it would be.**

**Arc, please review I love to know what my readers are thinking :)  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**This is my Christmas gift to you all. I'm going away for the holidays, and won't be back until the 30th of December. So, sorry for the upcoming wait :(**

Hotch sat back down, leaning his back against the wall, stretching out his legs. It was one of the most pleasurable feelings he had had in a long time. Eight days to be exact. He knew because he had started counting from the beginning. Well, the eighth day was a guess. Since Emily had been deposited in his room, and he knew it to be his room because he had scratched a cross on one corner and a circle on the opposite corner. He had contemplated the fact that at some point The Observer may move him, and taken the appropriate precautions to allow himself the opportunity to recognise if he had been moved. Of course, it had taken him many hours to scratch those little crosses and circles, the ropes binding him had hindered him, and made it extremely difficult to move across the room. He just hoped that The Observer had not realised his motivations, and had simply assumed he was passing the time.

He rolled his neck, feeling the tension release, his chest and abdomen still ached with the burning and pinching of the scars and wounds on him. He was grateful to Emily for cleaning them, it had been something he had initially been worried about.

"Are you all right?" He asked her, allowing her into his world for the moment. He had had to pretend she wasn't there to get himself back on track. He recognized that she truly hadn't meant to touch his feet that way, and that ordinarily on anyone else it wouldn't have meant the same thing, and they most certainly wouldn't have reacted the same way he had. It was embarrassing to say the least, and he sincerely hoped that she didn't know what it meant.

"Yeah." She still hadn't moved from her original position. But she was looking at him intently, unsure of what was happening.

"He hasn't hurt you?" He didn't want to believe that she had suffered through the same torture as he had. But he also knew that her original reaction to sound gave the impression that her experience was very different to his.

"No, I wasn't…tortured." She stumbled over the word, hating that it meant he had, in fact, been tortured. "At least, not physically."

He didn't even need to voice the next obvious question. A simple tilt of the head, and an impulse to lift his eyebrow got her to elaborate.

"I was in a room, like this…I think. I don't know, I couldn't see anything. Pitch black. No sounds, I wasn't allowed to talk. Every time I tried, a horrible noise would come, it was painful. Really painful." Her faced cringed with the memory. He could understand her initial reluctance to speak, especially around him. "You said, he?"

Hotch started with surprise at her question. "Yes, the man who abducted us."

"What man?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You've not seen anyone? No one at all since coming here?"

"You're the first person Hotch, and I know you didn't do this."

Hotch looked downwards, intent on the floor, thinking and disregarding profiles of the UnSub he had made. This changed things greatly. His entire understanding of The Observer was wrong. If Emily did not encounter the same man as he did, in fact did not encounter any man at all; the entire profile had to be re-evaluated. The UnSub's preferences and purposes were, although still unknown, even more of a mystery to him. This was bad, very bad. And he needed to let Emily in on their 'relationship'. He beckoned her over, indicating that she should sit next to him.

Emily looked at him nonplussed. He gave her an encouraging smile, one of his smiles she had never seen before. Mainly because he rarely smiled at work. She was too tired at this point to wonder at any deeper meaning in his strange requests. She pushed herself up off the floor and moved out of her sitting position. Scrambling over to Hotch and the wall, she carefully manoeuvred her way next to him. He immediately rearranged himself, lifting his arm up and resting it over her shoulders, pulling her into his body. She tried not to react to the blatant invasion of her personal space, and the very obvious un-Hotch-likeness of his movements. He leaned closer to her, pressed a kiss to the base of her hairline and whispered "Watching eyes." She resisted the compulsion to look around the room. Deciding he must have an _extremely_ good and well-thought out reason for doing this, she snuggled into him more, giving him the chance to explain.

He acquiesced, whispering something else to her, "UnSub thinks we're a couple." She closed her eyes at that, lest the UnSub see her rolling her eyes in complete bewilderment. That was just insane. Hotch didn't think of her that way, never would, didn't want to.

There had to be a reason for Hotch to tell her this though, and while she pondered on that, she reached out and grabbed his hand, the one laying on his far knee. They sat together on the floor, holding hands, looking the picture perfect couple taking comfort from each other. She squeezed his hand, signifying she was ready to hear more.

Hotch was surprised when she grabbed his hand, he didn't know if it was Emily or the character 'Emily' taking his hand. It was a brilliant move on her part though, he concluded. A couple would take comfort from each other in a moment such as this, and it gave them an extra closeness and allowed them in to converse, in muted whisper, the extent of their 'relationship'.

"Together for a couple of months. Deliberately vague." He pressed his face closer to her head, emulating smelling her hair, the manly version of taking comfort. Or arousal, but in this situation he doubted it would instill that attraction in the husband/boyfriend/partner he was supposed to be portraying. Unfortunately, his body didn't seem to recognize that their current situation was fraught with danger. It instinctively clenched as he smelled the deliciousness that was Emily Prentiss. How had he not realized the absolutely wonderful way she smelt? He tried to place the fragrance while continuing the recounting of pertinent information.

"Taunted me with your relationship with Morgan." He felt her instantly stiffen, she pulled back.

"WHAT?" She half-shouted, staring at him intently. As he watched her more closely he realized that what he thought was concentration was actually out-rage. He couldn't tell why, was it because she really was outraged, or was it merely another play-act designed to gratify The Observer. Then he realized that The Observer couldn't hear them, and her behavior would be construed very strangely. She needed to stop this, hide the feeling, or at the very least say something else to explain her behavior. It would be better and easier for him if she would just relax. Better still if she relaxed back into him. He missed her presence, he wanted to smell her again, catalog that fragrance that was inherently Prentiss.

How could anyone misconstrue her relationship with Morgan? They were best friends, and in this day and age there really shouldn't be any stigma attached to that. Women and men could be friends without the need to believe that they were romantically involved. Of course, there had been a few tense moments in the beginning of their friendship that could have led to a different kind of relationship than the one they had. But at the time, she hadn't been ready to pursue an in-work relationship, wasn't even sure she wanted to do that kind of thing…ever. But she had seen the way Morgan was around Garcia, noticed the way women flocked to him in bars and had concluded that they would be better suited as friends, best friends, not anything more. It always felt nice to flirt and tease Derek without the wondering, contemplating if they would get together. It was so comforting to know that Derek had her back, and would protect her, and tease her, be there for her for everything and anything. The same went for him. She was his closet confidant these days, she was well aware that before she arrived he had no one to confide in, no one to take him at face value, without expecting anything more. It was absurd to think that she had Morgan and a sexually/romantically intimate relationship. This UnSub must not have been watching her that carefully if he thought that she and Morgan were having an affair from her 'perceived' relationship with Hotch. And then there was that matter. Who would _ever_ believe that she and Hotch were a couple?

"Emily," he said, still in a whisper. She looked like she hadn't heard him, her eyes seemed far away, as if she was remembering something, or someone.

"Emily." He said much more loudly. His voice inflecting it with a need he hadn't meant. It made him sound…pleading, wanting, reliant on her. He shook off the internal disbelief and realized that The Observer would probably attribute it to their relationship and the situation, he only hoped that Emily understood what he had unintentionally done. Saying her name seemed to have snapped her out of her rage, or indignation, or whatever it was that had her thralled.

She looked back at Hotch, he seemed worried. Maybe she had been a little too loud in her exclaimed of shock. But that wasn't totally unexpected, he couldn't fault her for being surprised.

She came back to him, resting her head on his shoulder this time. Together, their hands lay resting on her thigh, the one closest to him. His other arm, still across her shoulders, fell a little bit and supported her along her back. He turned his head, looking over the crown of hers, and stared blankly at the stucco, stupidly blank wall. Soon their breathing was synced and he couldn't think of anything more to say. Until they knew the next move of the UnSub nothing could be done or even hypothesized. They were at the mercy of time it seemed, and for now, he was content to let every happen at it's own pace.

"What now?" She asked, more to hear her voice one more time than any real need to ask, or to have an answer.

"I don't know. I guess we just have to wait for The Observer." Hotch had relaxed into the feeling of having Emily so close. Smelling that undeniably Emily-smell. Running his hand over her shoulder, feeling her tousled and messy hair catch and run over his hand. It was a pleasant sensation. One he wished to have many more times, as often as possible. He allowed that feeling to remain for a few seconds before reluctantly pushing it away. It was then that he noticed Emily had frozen. She had not moved, she hadn't breathed. If he were to look he would have found she had not even blinked.

"What did you say?" Her voice was not her own. It was dark, and twisting, blank with terror but infused with a rage even she did not know she possessed.

Uncertainly he replied, "…I said, we'll have to wait for The Observer."

She did not answer.

Inside the room above theirs, The Observer and The Exponent watched the pair. The Observer was glad that Hotchner had revealed him. He waited with baited breath to see Emily's reaction. He barely glanced at The Exponent, this was something far above any supposed importance to be placed on The Exponent. This was something special. He desperately wanted Emily to remember, to know, to understand. The waiting was a bearable pleasure though, one he was excited to see the end of, one he had been looking forward to for a very long time.

The Exponent, being a young man of fourteen, watched his kidnapper with an avid and self-preservationary air. His days were filled with lessons and explanations. His nights with dozing slumber, never knowing when The Observer would wake him to test his knowledge. If he did not wake quickly enough, he was treated to a thrash of the cattle prod. The same one he had been forced to watch torture the man, the man named Hotchner down in that room. Thankfully, the cattle prod was never active when used on him. Apparently, he was too special to feel the electric burn of the prod. No, he was The Exponent, it was not his position to undergo torture. He had also been made to watch the nightmare the woman lived through. The darkness and the silence, that was his own worst nightmare. But apparently not hers. The Observer seemed more interested in the woman, Emily, than in the man, but he delighted in torturing him.

The Exponent, for that was his name now, never again was he to be Christopher Malkin, hated to watch those sessions. He hated to hear The Observer relish in causing Hotchner pain, over the anguish, and the lies he told…terrible lies, making him think his girlfriend was cheating on him. It was horrible. He hoped his turn would come soon, when he could prove to The Observer that they were good people, that they deserved to be together and more importantly, deserved to be free. He only hoped The Observer would listen to him. He looked warily at the chair to the right of him. The Observer often caressed that chair, mumbling to himself. It was the most frightening aspect of his kidnapper. The man truly thought that someone was trapped there, someone he loved, someone he wanted very much.

**Another cliff-hanger, sorry.**

**Please review, and let me know what you think of the progression :)**

**Arc**

**See you, probably in the New Year...well, not 'see' per se, more 'read'. But that sounds too strange to say, 'read you in the New Year'. Never mind...forget I said anything :)  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**It's AMAZING! I'm finally back from holidays, I hope I haven't kept you all waiting for too long :) **

**Now for a little team pondering...  
**

Three days ago...

Garcia had been right. The UnSub was unfortunately smart enough to keep away from traffic and security cameras. He had lead her on a merry chase around the city, at one point stopping to fill up at a gas station. Unfortunately, that station was where the UnSub had met up with the low-jeaned hooligan, the one who had torched Hotch's car. The UnSub, still Darth Helmet-ed, carried out a short but intense conversation with the boy. He handed over some keys; presumably Hotch's and then the boy, this stupid imbecilic teen, went in and paid for the gas, effectively closing down that line of inquiry. She lost the van shortly after that when it exited onto the highway and went off to Never Never Land (just turn right at the second star). She huffed at her screens, her babies were failing her. Had failed her. She had made the van discovery late Sunday night, two nights ago.

The team had put another BOLO out, this time searching for the mysterious white van. Unfortunately, Garcia hadn't managed to get any good pictures of its plates. Mainly because she was quite sure it didn't have any plates. But if that was the case, a van without plates should have been easy to find.

Every day, the team's spirits fell a little more. Rossi had demanded that they all go home. No one had. But everyone was pushing JJ to, it just wasn't right that she should be separated from Henry at a time like this. It was bad enough that Emily and Hotch were missing; JJ shouldn't have to deal with the loss of Henry too. When she had woken up this morning Garcia and Reid and ambushed her, saying as her duly appointed and protective Godparents, they were demanding that she return home and take care of her progeny. After an hour's deliberation, JJ finally conceded defeat.

The team was down to Rossi, Reid, Morgan and Garcia. They had nowhere to look, nowhere to go and nothing to do. Everything that could be done, had been, and anything that could possibly, conceivably be thought of to do, had been done days ago. If something didn't break soon, Garcia didn't know what they were going to do or what would happen. No one was going to move off this case until they were found, and if in two months there was still nothing, maybe just maybe, she would contemplate the slight possibility of doing something else, regardless of what any Section Chief might have to say about it. But perhaps, after that amount of time she would not remain in the BAU. She didn't know if she could handle going on if Hotch and Emily weren't found.

Rossi was devastatingly tired. Not only was he wiped out by the loss of Hotch and Emily, but it had fallen to him to call their families and explain the situation. Thankfully, the last time Emily had been abducted, only for three days, she had been with an UnSub they were already tracking, so there had been no need to bother her family. They had rectified the situation quickly enough, Emily had always been quite clear about the time lapse, her family where only to be notified if she was missing, or taken hostage for a period longer than five days. This time though, they didn't know anything about the UnSub other than that he was organized, proficient, and focused on Emily but with the optional choice of taking Hotch. It made for a very strange profile.

The phone call to Hayley Hotchner, at least he assumed she still went by that last name, was difficult to say the least. He had to endure a thirty-minute diatribe about the detriment of the BAU to her family's well being. It was clear she blamed the BAU for her marriage's breakup. It must have hurt her to realize that the BAU meant more to Hotch than she did. At least, that must be what she took from the whole experience. Rossi knew better than to try to explain the nuances of Hotch's personality and belief system to a woman who clearly should have been the first one to understand him. Rossi knew how hard it was to be in a relationship with someone who didn't understand you or what you did. He'd been married enough times, and had made the same mistake enough times, to understand Hotch's predicament. He just hoped that someday Hotch found the 'right' kind of woman, the 'right' woman _for_ him, one who would appreciate his dedication to the job, and not try to undermine his determination.

Rossi had pleaded with Hayley to hold off from telling Jack, he had said they would find him soon, and it wouldn't do to frighten her son. For some reason, a reason he wasn't sure of, he had refrained from telling Hayley that Hotch was missing with Emily. He chose not to think too hard about it or to try and understand his motivations. He had more important things to worry about, like the backlash from a certain Ambassador's office when she found out that her only daughter was missing, presumed abducted, and possibly in very great danger. He didn't like to reflect on that conversation either, if you could call it a conversation it was more like an interrogation. Dave certainly knew now where Emily got her interrogation techniques from, years following Ambassador Prentiss around had had something of a good impact in her dealings with the criminal world.

Morgan was standing by the small kitchenette that the bullpen had situated in one corner of the large room. He was leaning against the sink, staring out across the many desks arranged throughout the pen; he eyes were fixated on Emily's desk. The cleaner's still did their jobs, but it was disconcerting to note that her desk, her usually extremely ordered and neat desk remained in disarray, much like his own usually was. Emily was the master organizer; it was like her office-administrative superpower. She had another superpower as well; she seemed to have an innate ability to palm off files to Reid's desk. Only later on, in the night after the majority of the team had gone home, to pinch them back again. Derek had seen it happen once, soon after noticing that it was a regular occurrence.

They had been making a competitive game out of adding to Reid's files, the loser having to by Reid and the winner drinks when they were next out at a bar. Reid was unaware of said bet, but his puzzled looks at the growing pile upon his desk had Emily and JJ pealing in laughter late into the day. Even Garcia had got in on the act, circumventing one of the security cameras to watch the development. Morgan had managed to slip seven files onto the pile thinking it had been a mammoth effort. It was hard to distract Reid, or wait until his was distracted or until he left the table, so that he could add to Reid's ever-growing pile. But he had been pleased with his efforts, until the end of the day when the 'big reveal' happened. JJ and Garcia had hung around the pen near quitting time to wait for the counting of the files. Morgan was sure that Rossi had been deliberately 'cleaning' his coffee cup for exactly the same reason. Only Hotch seemed not to be interested in the developments of the day.

Morgan had grinned his Cheshire cat smile when his Mammoth Seven were announced. He had nudged Prentiss then, revelling in his glory. She hadn't reacted, he, at the time, had attributed the stoic look on her face to a feeling of unsurmountable crushing defeat. Her count was twelve. Morgan was at a loss, he had been carefully watching her progress through the day, he demanded to know how she had done it. Emily had flat out refused to elaborate, saying that it was her special secret and there was no way she was going to jeopardise future bets by revealing her skills. Reid had been astonished, asking them how often they did this. _Only a couple of files a week kid_. Had been Derek's answer. Emily had smiled at him mysteriously. Reid had groaned and demanded they take them back. Morgan had refused to take them all back, saying he would only take half, seeing as how Reid was exceptionally oblivious in the office, it was his punishment for a lack of observational skills that a highly trained profiler such as himself should have noticed.

Later on, when everyone but Hotch and Prentiss had gone home, he and Garcia had sat in her tech room watching the playback of the day's events. It turned out that Emily had a conspicuous knack for distracting Reid while talking to him, she asked him questions or told stories, or teased him, and while he was deliciously confused or excited or embarrassed she quickly slipped two files at a time into his file pile. Reid never even noticed. Morgan wondered how often she did that. It was then that he noticed Garcia spied on them. On some level, he had always thought she did, but to actually see the evidence before him was startling. One of her screens showed Emily still in the bullpen, halving Reid's pile of files and finishing them off for him. She seemed to not want to leave the pen. When he returned to work the next day, he noticed that his own messy stack of files was considerably shortened and neatened. Emily had another super power…making files disappear. He had wholeheartedly payed up on the losing bet. Soon after his files began making their way into Emily's instead of Reid's pile.

He missed her. It just wasn't the same in the pen without her. It wouldn't be the same until she got back either.

He knew he wasn't that close with Hotch, but he had been honest when he had said over a year ago that Hotch was the BAU. Nothing would be the same if those two didn't come back.

**What do you think?**

**I hope I captured the team correctly, not a whole lot happened in this chapter, I know, but it seemed necessary to flesh out the relationships...**

**Arc :)  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks to all those who reviewed, holidays must interfering with my other 'usual suspects' :)**

**I appreciate the effort it takes for you to review on each of my chapters, I love you all how a nomad loves water in a desert!**

**Here is my next effort, I hope you enjoy.  
**

_Ah, this is obviously some strange usage of the word 'safe' that I wasn't previously aware of…'_

_Douglas Adams_

Her palms cradled her head; mania sieged her on all sides. Her fingertips pressed harshly into her skull. She was determined not to cry. Harsh breaths escaped as she struggled to control the sobs that threatened to break out. She sat curled in upon herself, back against one of the imposing walls, trying to gain some semblance of control.

Hotch was by her side, he had not left her since the darkness had returned. His hand soothing her through her shirt, his quiet steady breathing giving her something to focus on. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even if The Observer had returned, this was wrong, so completely wrong. It wasn't the way _he_ had done things. That only left one option and she couldn't bear to think it, to think of that precious soul turning into a likeness of that man. That despicable being who didn't have the right to call himself 'human'.

For his part, Hotch couldn't figure out what the hell had happened. He estimated that about three or four days ago, after he had finally managed to tell Emily they were supposed to be a couple, and had mentioned The Observer, she had stilled in shock. She had blinked at him, statuesque-like, horror leaching the colour from her pale face. Her jaw had laxed and tightened reflexively, as if she was searching for the words that would release her from some wizard's spell. She blinked once, twice, then a cacophony of flickers had made him suspect she was about to have a seizure. Tears had grouped and wavered across the bottom of her eyes, they soon fell. He had quickly balanced on his haunches, reaching out hands to grasp her shoulders.

"Emily, what is it?" He pressed closer still, wishing he had some talisman or keepsake to bring her back to him, she stared straight through him, he was beyond worried.

She had clutched at him then, her hands fisting in the collars of his shirt, yanking him toward her. It might have been a passionate action had she not been so terrified. Closing in on his good ear, she had said, "He's dead. He died, I checked. I made sure." Then she had bent her head and rested it against his shoulder mumbling into the fabric there. It was the usual denials one might hear as the surgeon informed the family their loved one had not survived the operation.

_This can't be happening, no please, there must be something you can do…_

Without warning, she had released him from her iron grip.

"You're dead!" She screamed at the ceiling, standing quickly and commandeering the small room. "I saw it happen, watched the life depart your worthless body!" She had railed at whatever lay outside the room for a while, slowly though the Emily Prentiss he knew and somewhat understood returned.

"Emily…Em…come here." He had tugged at her arm, bringing her close to him. Wrapped an arm around her as she melted into his embrace. He rubbed her back with his other hand, wanting to ask questions but knew she needed to be calm first. "It's okay, I've got you." It wasn't though, they both knew that but it seemed to help to say the words. _You're safe_ his body shouted at her, echoed through his mind, desired that she understand his meaning. He wanted to make her safe, keep her safe, always and ever. But he knew better than to say it, to say out loud that she was safe. For he knew they weren't. He wanted to say it anyway.

After a minute, an hour, an age, Emily had peeled herself away from him. He had begun to think they were the same entity. She had not been crying, she had been shivering in anger, he knew that much at least.

"The Observer, he's done this before…but it can't be him. He's dead." The look in her eyes was so earnest, so sure, that he had instinctively believed her. There was no doubt in her mind and therefore neither his. "He's dead, I know he…" A god-awful noise resounded in the room. The pain he had so often felt months ago reverberated in his ear. Emily's eye widened in stark terror, one of her hands automatically reaching for his damaged ear. A while later the sound had stopped. She had refused to move her hand, indicating that he should say something, to test the noise, to see if it would return, or if it was only she that was barred from talking.

"What?" he questioned, more asking 'what word should I say?' but realizing it would matter little, settled for the innocuous word. The noise returned full-force. Cringing and in great pain, Emily had strove to protect his ear, forgetting her own ears in the process. He wished to remove his hands from his own head, but could not. He had never felt more selfish than that moment. Emily looked at him only in compassion and remorse.

For a time, maybe a couple of hours, they attempted to communicate in a clunky form of made-up sign language. When it became obvious they were starting to understand each other, the light had inexplicably gone out.

It had yet to return.

Hotch was still none the wise as to what was going on. He knew only that whatever was happening had something to do with Emily's past, and that from their sign-languaged talk it seemed that it was an anniversary of sorts, an anniversary of something, he was sure…she had mimed a birthday cake – blowing out candles – he took that to mean an anniversary, for no one would relate what was happening to them to a birthday. It was still pitch black, the only thing he took comfort in was that they were together this time, and that The Observer had never returned. So he had not been tortured since. It meant his wounds were healing, as best they could.

It also meant that he could be as close to Emily as he wished without arousing her suspicion of any other motive, for he realized lately he had been purposely getting close to her, physically, at work, on the jet, whenever and wherever he could. His lousy hormones, not letting his brain in on what they were up to, until now. The worst possible time. He _was_ attracted to Prentiss, hugely attracted, and as he reflected probably had been for some time now.

The Exponent had never seen The Observer as angry as he had been when the woman, Emily, had tried to tell Hotchner that The Observer was dead. It had made no sense. The Observer was very much alive, pacing and growling to the left of him. The Observer was the man who had abducted the three of them, and kept them alive for a single purpose. To examine their worth, to determine if they deserved to remain alive. The couple that is, the boy wasn't worried about his own safety. He already deserved to live, The Observer had already determined that., and he trusted the older man…what other choice did he have? It wasn't The Observer's or The Exponent's role to decide if they should live.

The Observer's only purpose was to observe and test the male and the female. The couple, they were the focus. The Exponent's role was to eventually explain to the couple what had been happening to them, and guide them through the final examination, the final part of The Observer's design. The Exponent peeked at the monitor, glaring in green, depicting the couple still clinging together after The Observer had changed the rules. He had watched in absolute shock as The Observer had pulsed the alarm through the room, punishing the woman for talking. And then, when the couple had tried to communicate through other means, he had plunged them into darkness. The Exponent had not understood these new events, the plan was very clear, he had read and reread the manual.

The manual was a small leather bound book that The Observer had demanded he read and memorise during his first day here. The Observer had said it was imperative he understood every aspect of the manual so that no part of the coming weeks would go astray. But they had. The couple were supposed to be together right now, talking in the light, and discussing what they thought was happening. The Observer was supposed to be testing their limits, seeing if their relationship would hold up under the isolation, and prospect of being tortured again. The Observer had deviated from his own plan. Something very strange was going on, even more strange than being abducted and giving such an important role as The Exponent.

**Just a quick peek at Emily and Hotch, and The Observer and Exponent, before we return to the team.**

**I think you'd spend enough time wondering what had happened to them...**

**Arc, please review  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**This is a shortie.**

**But I promise to update tomorrow as well, so that all my readers don't fall down from the smallness of this update :)**

**_There is just a small change I have to make in this to make it accurate. I am not a clinical doctor, therefore I make mistakes regarding the actual way psychologists and/or psychiatrist operate. I have no clue :) I'm making this up as I go, so a BIG thanks to FotoBridget2 who pointed out that Agent Bordeaux is actually a psychiatrist not a psychologist. WHOOPS! :) That's all. Thanx._  
**

Today…

Agent Bordeaux heaved a silent groan. He was pouring over one of his more complex clients. He preferred to call them clients, not patients. He was one of the FBI's top psychologists; it wouldn't do to call other FBI agents patients. That would not work with their image, even if it were only ever in-house. He'd worked with this client for over five years. It was slightly unusual to have a psychiatrist assigned to you, but he hadn't wanted to let someone else take over her case-file. The psychological nuances of her trauma were too involved, complex and arduous to simply palm her off onto someone else. His patient was brilliant though, even if he did think so himself. He'd seen her face down the demons in her mind and overcome them every time. She had an innate ability to splinter herself, deal with her problems in a completely non-emotional way and deliver a succinct and inspired response to all questions he posed. And then she could turn around and do the same thing, this time with her emotions only, coming at the problem from a completely emotional and non-rational place.

He loved working with her and had been hugely disappointed when she refused to allow him to use her as a case study for his fellow academia. He respected her; he respected her decisions and partially understood her reasons. He was still trying to get her to open up to her closest friends, something she was still declining. She didn't see how revealing that event would have any bearing on her future relationships with her friends. He had mainly been pushing that point because the anniversary of 'said event' had recently come and gone, and she wasn't handling it as well as they had both hoped she would. Nothing too extravagant, a slight disassociation with her usual calming routines, and a feeling of isolation. Bordeaux believed that opening up to one or two of her closest friends might relieve some of the burden of keeping the trauma so close to her chest. She hadn't agreed. So he had tried it from various angles and each time she had succinct and logical reasons for shooting his suggestions down.

Bordeaux was frustrated because truthfully, revealing that event wouldn't have any direct or indirect _bearing_ on her relationships but it would build bridges of trust, intimacy and openness between herself and her friends. It would strengthen their bonds. She had remarked that their bonds didn't need strengthening; they were already strengthened by their friendship and their job.

His patient didn't have many friends outside of her work. It was a shame because she was such a vibrant person. If he didn't know better Bordeaux would have thought he was romantically interested in his patient. He wasn't, he was happily involved going on seven years with an amazing university lecturer. But he did desire for his client, and friend, to be romantically involved with someone she could trust with all her secrets, including this one. The secret only a handful of people knew about, and that, mostly because a lot of people hadn't survived the event. He glanced at his watch and realized she was late for their appointment. It actually happened regularly. Not her being late, but that her work would unexpectedly call her away and she would forget to notify him, knowing that he had the resources to locate her and reschedule on her behalf.

In fact, his 'client' wasn't away at work, and she wasn't late. She wouldn't be coming. She had, in fact, been abducted thirteen days ago.

Smokey Tom looked out across the dwindling patronage that his bar serviced during the lazy afternoon preceding Friday nights. The weekends were his biggest revenue-taking nights. No surprise there, given the business that was done around town. White-collar types, G-men, gun-toting Neanderthals, femme fatales - their sexuality and sarcasm weapons of choice, paper-pushers and accountants. They all left they're sparkling, clean, and down-right boring offices, or fast cars, flashing lights and the sound of weapons fire, to come out onto the streets to imbibe a little, or a lot, of alcohol. To drown their fastidious and mind-numbing days, or the never-ending justifications and paper-work, at bars like his or others.

Of course, his bar drew a certain type of patron. Those who wanted excitement or the illusion of escape. But tonight, and every other night, since Shadow had disappeared and not returned, he was on the look-out for 'the man'. The creeping and silent man that had watched her with an air of discontent, a watching that was borne out of some different metal than the others. The others looked at Shadow because she was magnetic, he had watched because of another reason. Something deeper, sinister. He knew the underbelly of society very well, after all he had been born and raised in it. He should be able to recognise it in others, and he was very adept at doing so. The silent man who had so easily slipped out of his bar, wary patrons and watchful workers never the wiser.

He had enlisted his closet friends, all from various biker gangs, to help him with his search. One of his inner circle was in trouble, and they all owed Smokey Tom something. Whether money, drugs, loyalty or more, this was something they were required to do, no questions asked. They all remembered Shadow. Few remembered 'the man', but a quick description, and the passing on of the strange feeling that accompanied him, had everyone in the know. They all remembered the skulking wraith that had spun a web of displeasure around the booth he solely occupied. No patches on his leathers, and a scratched helmet nearby. It was the leather wearing pariah that had the gangs on edge. It meant he was an unknown factor, a walking neon sign blinking out to the FBI and Police that they had a biker problem, only he wasn't part of any local gang. It was bad business to draw the attention of the media. No one wanted their gang affiliated with whatever was going down with Shadow. She was one of theirs now, Smokey ensured it. If they found this guy first, the law wouldn't know what happened. And if they ever figured it out, then the law would thank them too.

**Hope you all liked it and LOOK Smokey's back, I do so love him :)**

**I wonder if anyone else picked up 'something' from The Snowman, if you guess correctly I'll give you a choice between a virtual chocolate covered biscuit OR an answer to one question - you have to ask this in your review when you guess :) **

**Thanks for reading, and reviewing.**

**Arc  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**So, Le Team is back!**

**Hopefully everything is correct and I'm not making _too_ many mistakes ;)**

**Also, this part refers to my previous story, so sorry to anyone who hasn't read that one but I really couldn't avoid talking about, but it shouldn't be too difficult to understand. If you need help PM me and I'll explain.  
**

Agent Bordeaux walked along the myriad of corridors and walkways, traversing the dignified halls across the Quantico training yard to the Behavioural Analysis Unit. His client hadn't come for her scheduled meeting and hadn't rung to reschedule. He was determined to figure out what was going on. Especially, since her last session hadn't worked out so well. They hadn't been able to resolve any of her under-lying issues regarding the anniversary of her initial trauma. The initial trauma was also compounded by her fear that a prior secondary personality might resurface. Her recent abduction, causing a personality split, known as Snow White, had uprooted many of her old fears. His client was worried that the newly formed, and as of yet still adhered to, pact between her two psyches might be deteriorating. Snow White appeared to have fully melded back into the primary persona. There had been no unexplained behaviour, or any romanticised feelings directed to the man who had abducted her.

Agent Bordeaux was anxious to check up on his client, she would forgive him for his hovering, but this was an especially fragile time for Agent Prentiss. The anniversary of the first major trauma, her fears regarding her secondary major trauma, along with the physically and emotionally wrought consequences of the nightmares and memories she was attempting to deal with by herself, were creating an instability and volatility that she was struggling to control.

Her already fractured state of being was rapidly splintering, her control was slipping and she had said it was starting to affect her work life. A fact that was highly distressing to her, she had remarkable control and could usually keep home life and work life separate.

He reached the glass shield, the door that partitioned their horrific world from the rest of the standard criminal world. There was something so much more distressing and terrible about the world they inhabited than the white and blue collar crimes other units investigated. Serial killers and abductors, rapists and cannibals…the world was indeed a disfigured and ghastly place. He wondered at the inherent psychology of these people that they would choose to daily confront these fiends. That these consummate agents would deliberately choose to delve, look and occupy the lives, the mannerisms, and the disturbing mindsets of these most heinous criminals. It was mind boggling, Bordeaux knew he would never be able to function in any normal capacity if he were subjected to those types of things in his daily life. He preferred to work with the Agents, to delve into their subconscious and conscious minds, to use their emotions and beliefs and thoughts to right wrongs and work through their problems. He was a problem solver, not a problem saver. Emily was definitely a problem _saver_, she spent her life saving people, protecting them. In a way, he supposed, she did _solve_ problems, but those problems were difficult human mazes where one wrong turn could mean the death or continued life of an innocent person. He preferred to think that what she did was more saving than solving.

The team was exhausted. Most hadn't slept more than a few minutes a day since the initial abduction had dragged on into the second week. They were no closer to figuring out where Emily and Hotch were. They knew they had been abducted by a dark figure Garcia had started referring to as Darth Helmet, mainly because she refused to the call him the UnSub, and the fact that they had to yet to see the UnSub without that damn motorcycle helmet. They knew that the UnSub had used Halothane to immobilize them, orchestrated the torching of Hotch's car, and had disappeared off the main roads. They had footage of the Darth Helmet following the pair, or at least traveling a well-worn route to Emily's house, the night they were abducted. There had been no bodies recovered, so there was a significant chance that their team members were still alive, and there had been no ransom demands, Emily's parents were well-off so that had been a possibility. But the UnSub seemed to be working for an entirely different purpose, it was very frustrating, their profiles were lacking a great deal. Darth Helmet was smart, his van had no plates, so there had been no way to track him, and the BOLO had not recovered any white vans without plates, but all the UnSub had to do was put plates back on once the van was out of camera range. There were way too many variables and not enough information for the team to do anymore than what they were doing already.

Rossi was worried. Soon the Section Chief's would want them to continue on with other cases, there was only so much time that they could spend on this case. Regardless that the missing people were their own, if they didn't find something soon…They needed a break, soon. Something, anything. The old files they had been going through had shown up nothing, and Emily's FBI file had not enlightened them either. Garcia had been reluctant to research Emily's past, but Rossi and Morgan had explained the necessity of knowing that if she had any past enemies that they may try something like this, especially since it was clear that Emily was the target. Hotch was still an unknown in the UnSub's ritual. There was so much they didn't know!

Spencer Reid was returning from an obligatory restroom break when he saw the vaguely familiar man standing beside Emily's desk. His squinted his eyes, the man's back was turned so that he couldn't see his face. But whatever the reason, Reid didn't want anyone hanging around Emily's desk, especially when she wasn't here to give permission. Walking over quickly, he cleared his throat, "Ah, excuse me, can I help you?"

"Yes, Dr Reid, I'm looking for Agent Prentiss." The man replied. Where had he seen him before?

"I'm afraid she's unavailable at the moment, can I take a message?" He didn't want just anyone knowing Emily had been abducted.

"What do you mean she's unavailable?" The man's voice dropped to a lower octave. A dangerous octave.

"I mean just that." He'd watched Morgan refuse to give out details about Emily enough times to know that using colloquial statements and vague answers was the best way to ensure interested men would leave. Men came by a lot asking about Emily, they certainly didn't want either her or Hotch knowing about it. Hotch had started reacting differently where men and Emily were concerned. None of them wanted to profile that too closely. Well, at least Reid didn't, Morgan seemed very interested in those new developments. Rossi too. JJ hadn't seemed to notice yet.

"Where is Agent Hotchner?" The man suddenly inquired, looking toward the office, the dark and closed office.

"He is…busy." Reid didn't want to say unavailable as well, that would seem suspicious.

"Busy." The man repeated.

Abruptly, Reid remembered exactly who this man was. "Agent Bordeaux!"

"Yes?" Bordeaux looked at him oddly, perhaps he been too excited in his realization of the man's identity.

"Come with me. Now." Reid grabbed hold of Bordeaux's arm, dragging him to Garcia's tech room. He pushed open the door, displacing Rossi in the momentum, a quick apologetic look quelled any outburst from him. "Everyone, this is Agent Bordeaux, Emily's…" Again, he couldn't quite seem to bring himself to say the word psychiatrist. It wasn't as if it was a big, horrifying secret. Every agent at least twice a year (barring any traumatic event) had to see a psychiatrist. He himself had had to go multiple times after the Henkel debacle.

"Bordeaux." Rossi said, nodding his head in a terse greeting. Morgan and JJ nodded their heads too. Garcia discretely investigating the agent's past using her skills to uncover his electronic files.

"He's looking for Emily." Reid explained.

Bordeaux was concerned, they were exhibiting strange behavior. None of them usually congregated in this small, dark room. They usually gathered around their desks in the bullpen, or in the large office. "What's going on?" he asked warily. And where were Agents Prentiss and Hotchner for that matter? But he didn't ask, he wanted to hear what Emily's team had to say.

They were quiet for a few seconds, contemplating who should tell him the news, whatever that news happened to be.

It seemed that Morgan had been chosen as the bringer of news.

"Emily and Hotch were abducted, two weeks ago." It was then that he saw their haggard expressions, the tiredness lurking behind every eye, the hope that was beginning to dwindle. Bordeaux knew what Bureau procedure was, they didn't have much time left to wholly devote themselves to this cause.

"What information do you have?" He inquired, getting straight to the heart of the matter.

Rossi answered, "Emily was at Smokey's Bar, a fortnight ago. Garcia was concerned as she never came back from your meeting. Hotch located her and took her home. A figure in a helmet used Halothane to render them unconscious, abducted them. We lost his van when he exited the city about two hours later that Friday night. There has been no new evidence since. No ransom's, no communications, no trace."

"Who was the target?" He asked quietly, he thought he already knew the answer. He just wanted to be sure.

***insert all manner of scary, cliff-hangery music***

**Hope the story's moving along at a fast enough pact for you.**

**Arc, please review, I do so love them :)  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**And here's another fast one! I wouldn't like anyone to go into a fangirl rage on me ;)**

**More team, because that was definitely one place I couldn't let go without explanation.  
**

Morgan narrowed his eyes at the psychiatrist's question. He clearly already knew Emily was the target. "Why don't you tell us, why?" He interrupted before Reid could answer Bordeaux's question.

"Why what?" came the shaky reply.

"_Why_ Emily was the target." He saw Garcia and JJ look at him in surprise, but he was more interested in Bordeaux's answer. The man clearly knew more than he was letting on.

Bordeaux should have known better than to try and circumvent a conversation with profilers. This was the exact problem he ran into with Emily every time they talked. At least she had the decency to let him believe he had the upper hand. He sighed. This was a long story. One he didn't exactly feel comfortable about sharing with anyone without Emily's express permission. Something to this day she had never given him.

"I take it Miss Garcia hasn't managed to find anything in Emily's files that would enlighten you on the significance of this time of year?"

Garcia slowly swiveled her chair, feeling very much the diabolical Dr. Evil, all she needed now was a hairless cat, she settled for a vibrant green-haired troll. "There was nothing in her files that would indicate this time of year was particularly special."

"Sorry for this question but it needs to be asked," The balding, although rather attractive, hook-nosed man said. "But, have any of you noticed anything unusual about Emily lately?"

"Other than her abduction?" JJ replied facetiously.

Bordeaux waited patiently for an answer, he didn't seem the least perturbed by JJ's less than polite faux-answer.

The team exchanged loaded glances. No one wanted to 'out' Emily's odd behavior if she had managed to hide if from the psychiatrist.

"I take it, you have?" Bordeaux waited for their agreeing nods before continuing. "it's not exactly unexpected, Emily had mentioned she was struggling to keep her personal problems outside of work."

"What personal problems?" Reid asked in alarm, she had never mentioned anything. They were quite close now, they didn't have to be explicit with each other but he and Emily at least let each other know when they were having a particularly sensitive day. No explanations needed.

"Recently, Emily has been struggling with a past trauma." Bordeaux began.

"Tobey O'Conner?" Rossi inquired.

"No."

Bordeaux let this new piece of information settle in before he continued. Just when he was about to start explaining the whole story, an overwhelming feeling came upon him. This was not his story to tell, and Emily had not given her permission. There wasn't much of a chance that her past trauma was even connected to this, it might only be a coincidence that her abduction happened to fall on the exact day of the anniversary of the initial trauma. It was possible, there were only three hundred and sixty-five days in a year.

JJ watched this odd man hesitate. If it was anything to do with Emily why wasn't he telling them what they needed to know right now? She tried to figure out why he wasn't talking.

"Are you absolutely sure that Emily was the target?" Agent Bordeaux asked.

Morgan was getting frustrated with this man. He clearly knew a lot more about the situation than they did. He sucked in a calming breath. "Yes. The abductor was at the same bar that Emily was, and he knew the exact route to her house, and he had a parking-garage card. He was efficient, thorough and the abduction was completely premeditated."

Bordeaux nodded in response. He looked around the small room for somewhere to sit. If he was going to break doctor/patient confidentiality, he was going to need to sit down. He realized that everyone bar Miss Garcia were standing. He steadied himself and was struck with the realization that no matter how much this team, Emily's team, needed to know what was going on, he could not, under any circumstance, break doctor/patient confidentiality. But perhaps there were other ways that he could convey the same information.

"I cannot under any circumstance break confidentiality with my patient." The looks that accompanied his statement were bordering on murderous.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Agent Morgan asked in outraged annoyance.

"But, I do know of another person, who has had a similar experience to the one you are inquiring about." He tried to convey his plan, through his eyes. He wanted them to go along with this, it was the only way he could help them.

Dr. Reid seemed to instantaneously understand where he was going, soon Rossi, Garcia and JJ understood. Agent Morgan was still too upset with him to look at him directly. But Bordeaux understood that these were very stressful times, and he should be thankful that Morgan hadn't put his head through a table. Emily talked about all the members of her team. Bordeaux felt like he knew them already.

"About fifteen years ago, a couple were abducted from their home. The next day, a fourteen year old boy was taken from his home and a young college girl. They all lived in the same city, but there was nothing connecting them. Nothing that the local police could determine anyway. Well, why would they investigate the possible connection between a teenage runaway, a college girl taking a mid-semester road trip, and a couple who were probably having a romantic weekend away?" Bordeaux frowned, he had to be very careful about what he said, and didn't say. He needed to remember to talk about the situation without directly referring to Emily. Although, he gathered that the team were very adept at understanding the subtext of his story. Garcia was already at work trying to track down Emily's University/College transcripts.

"Two weeks went by and there had been no word, or trace of the couple, the boy, or the girl. At about the three week mark, a letter arrived at the boy's house addressed to his parents in his handwriting. It was a mock-up of a court order stating that he had done his duty as required by The Observer and he would be coming home soon."

Garcia immediately began another search for the elusive observer, Rossi racked his brains trying to remember if he had heard anything about an abduction by someone known as the observer. Reid thought back as well. Morgan knew he didn't have the memory or the inclination to try and tell if he knew anything about this criminal. He merely waited for Bordeaux to continue his story.

Bordeaux sighed, this was the part where he had to be extremely careful, "The Observer had psychologically and physically tortured all four of his victims. Some were psychologically tortured, some both, some physically only. The Observer had given them roles to accomplish. The couple were unaware of their role, but the boy and girl had gone through an explicitly detailed explanation of their respective roles by The Observer. The boy was given the role of, essentially, a lawyer, it was his 'job' to act for the couple, pleading their 'case'."

"What case?" JJ asked. She hadn't quite figure out where this man was going with his diatribe but she wanted some of her questions answered.

"Basically, The Observer believed that one of the couple had been having an affair. It was the boy's 'job' to plead their right to live. Their right to continue their lives. The Observer, I understand didn't get involved in this aspect of his…" Bordeaux didn't know the right word to use.

"Ritual?" Rossi supplied.

"Ritual." Bordeaux conceded, "After the boy had pleaded the case, it fell to another to settle on the verdict."

"Let me get this straight," Morgan interrupted to Bordeaux's great, but hidden, relief (He had learned something useful from spending so much time with Agent Prentiss). "The couple were tortured, and questioned presumably by The Observer. The boy was made to act as a lawyer or advocate on their behalf before whom. The Observer?"

Bordeaux shook his head slowly, this was the tricky part.

"The girl? The college girl?" Rossi asked. Bordeaux froze, he didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe. "Well, obviously no one would make that kind of choice when they had been tortured and abducted."

Bordeaux grimaced a little, there was more to this story than what he could tell them.

"There's more isn't there?" JJ asked quietly. This definitely had something to do with Emily, things that her psychiatrist couldn't tell them. Things they would need to figure out for themselves.

"Suffice it to say, that eventually The Observer tired of waiting. His techniques had not produced the desired results and he neutralized the couple."

"Neutralized." Reid repeated.

"Yes, then The Observer locked the remaining victims in one of the rooms and discarded the bodies. But as he was doing so, he was apprehended by a couple of patrolling cops."

"How long til they realized that he had the other two hostage?" Morgan asked.

"They didn't."

**Mwah hah hah har - I am so EVIL! I'm loving the cliff-hangers I'm imposing on you all :)**

**You'll forgive me, eventually.**

**Love and cookies for those who review.**

**Arc  
**


	20. Chapter 20

**More team! Yay...hopefully things will start looking a little clearer through the murkiness of confusion :)**

"Did they survive?" asked JJ, rather redundantly Bordeaux thought.

"Yes, the two remaining victims survived." He replied.

"How?" Rossi demanded.

He paused then, trying to determine the best way to explain what the after effects of the incident had been on the two surviving victims. But he knew he had to answer the team. He desperately wanted to check up on Tommy-Joel Parker. If he was still living in Paris, Texas then everything was fine. If their technical analyst could find him, and prove that he was nowhere near Emily's apartment that night, this information had no use for them, and he would be clearly wasting their time. But it would be necessary for privacy issues not to reveal his reasons why. Evidently, Rossi and Morgan were not about to let that happen.

"The girl managed to get out of the room. She had to leave the boy there, he was unconscious by that point. Before I continue I would ask that Miss Garcia locate for me T.J. Parker, in Texas."

It was true that Emily and Agent Hotchner's lives could depend on him being as open and honest as possible. However, if T.J. was fine, where he was supposed to be and in no way connected to this incident, it would be best to find out now.

Garcia moved first.

Bordeaux was Emily's psychiatrist, if he thought locating T.J. Parker was necessary. It probably was, he must understand how important Emily was…**is** in their family. The one they chose, not the one they were born into. You can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends and Garcia had, she'd been extremely careful in her choices, and she'd finally found her family.

She picked up a handful of T.J's, looking over to Bordeaux, she found him skimming the names.

There were two Tommy-Joel's. A senior and a junior.

"Where's Junior?" he asked, pointing toward Tommy-Joel Parker – 29 years old.

A few more keystrokes, and backdoors into government programs brought up his last known address. 1362 W Cherry Street.

"Three months ago, he vacated the premises. No forwarding address." Garcia glanced back at Bordeaux, he was frowning.

"What is it?" JJ asked. She thought psychiatrist's should be better equipped than to show their emotions and thoughts to others so plainly. He seemed thoroughly confused.

"Can you find where he is now?" He remained staring at the primary monitor.

"Sure thing…bank accounts show some activity, he's in Virginia."

"Are you convinced?" Rossi asked. He'd been watching this man who claimed to know Emily well very carefully. He remembered that day so many months ago when she had been cleared for return to duty. How the man's eyes had lingered on her a fraction too long. The jovial manner he treated her serious condition. They were conspiring to keep something from the team. His distrust of the hawkish man grew. Emily should have been comfortable enough to tell them (at least one of them) any problem she was trying to work through. Going to a psychiatrist was a sign of weakness and instability. Rossi only ever went when ordered, and even then it needed to be an order with a pretty serious threat behind it. He made a mental note to pressure Garcia into infiltrating Emily's medical files. The sealed ones. A little invasion of privacy never hurt anyone when their life was the thing in danger. The scales weighing life and death gave an extremely clear interpretation of what could be forgiven when the dust settled.

Bordeaux sighed, "I was kind of hoping the anniversary was an accidental thing…I didn't want to believe it was connected. But this is irrefutable."

Morgan looked over to Garcia, she didn't need words to prompt her into pulling up every piece of information they could find on T.J. Parker.

"Is he the UnSub?" Reid asked. He had halted his thoughts. He'd been permeating through various theories, but had finally decided that it would be better to get the answer straight from Bordeaux. Besides every theory he had tried always ended up with Hotch, Emily, or both irrevocably damaged or dead.

Emily and Hotch were the strong, dependable ones, they weren't allowed to die.

Garcia and Morgan were the flighty, funny, formidable outliers. Great for uplifting and including you in team pursuits. Formidable, for they would stop at nothing to protect those that they loved. If ever Reid needed protection and people to vouch for him under any circumstances, Garcia and Morgan were the first people he thought of.

JJ was the face of the group, she represented the BAU to the families, law enforcement and the public – smart, pretty, flexible, she gathered and prepared the team like a Kindergarten teacher – intensely proud of the work her charges did and ferociously protective against those who might cast disparaging thoughts or images upon them.

Rossi, a late-comer to the proverbial party, instilled heritage, old-school wisdom and strength. His controlling quirks and grand-fatherly behavior slowly eroding their overbearing nature and instead becoming valuable assets as his individual place within the group solidified and he fully adjusted to New-School practices. His presence reminding the team; to never forget your roots, to never pretend you know all there is to know. That people will surprise you, that they are unpredictable even as their entire careers revolved around that very idea: that you can predict the behavior of people, particularly criminals.

Emily and Hotch were the epitome of dependable. You always knew were you stood with them. Straight-forward, they were (are) honest to the point of being painful (but extremely sensitive). In a world full of understanding profilers, Emily was the most understanding person Reid had ever met. She had instinctively known the Reid she met those first few months was not truly him. The only one of the team who had refused to allow him to behave in any manner unfitting to the person he truly was. She was quite possibly the third person on the entire planet to wholly understand him, his mother and Jason Gideon being the others. Late night calls when cravings hit had felt like an intrusion on her private life the first time he had needed to hear her voice, her words. Now he called simply to talk about things. It was a comfort for him now, to know his place in her life warranted early morning interruption acceptance.

So far, he realized, she had returned the favor only twice after her abduction in Alleghany County. Why had he not realized she was adept at avoiding certain aspects of her past? Those thoughts led him to Hotch – master of avoidance. He rarely spoke about anything outside work. The divorce papers had been the first sign to JJ and Garcia. Prentiss, obviously not knowing the usual 'Hayley-obsessed' nature of Aaron Hotchner in previous years had no way of knowing that the Hotch she met was any different to the norm. Rossi had clearly picked up on it straight away.

Reid wondered how Hotch and Emily were faring. Their previously strained acquaintance seemed to be evolving into full-fledged friendship. Would they find in each other someone with whom they could truly share and confide?

**'Cause this was one was a shortie too, expect another post tomorrow!**

**Hope that made you all smile...in a...bad things are happening to our characters way...**

**Arc  
**


	21. Chapter 21

**Back again!**

**And I'm sooooooooo sorry for all those lovely reviewers who are wielding pitchforks and flaming molotov cocktails, ready to throw them at my head for this...but, you're going to have to wait just a tiny bit longer...  
**

For the next few hours, Garcia and the team struggled to find any latent information regarding T.J. Parker Jr. Nothing was forthcoming. The man was elusive, the bank account records showed that he had bought large stocks of basic food a month ago, from various stores. He had withdrawn a large amount of cash, and had yet to use his card again. There were no leases in his name, nor any business transactions citing him at any measure involved. The van he had used to transport Emily and Hotch was still missing. His motorcycle, which Garcia had invented a program specifically to search for it, had not been found. They were at a complete and utter dead end. They couldn't even find a current photograph of Mr. Parker Jr. He was a ghost.

Garcia had an idea. It wasn't legal. It was rare that her ideas were. She worked under the assumption that the greater good far outweighed any particular breaching of protocol or small addendum rules that might be found within the law. It wasn't called the Justice System anymore was it, no, it was called the Legal System. Because really, when a burglar entered your house to steal, stole some pretty valuable stuff and fell down your stairs on his way out. Was it right that he was able and legally allowed to sue you for damages? And win? Penelope didn't think so, that wasn't truly _Justice_ that lived in the realm of _legality_.

Her idea lived on the circumference of what could vaguely be called the circle of all that is good. One would have to slightly twist and shake the accepted terms of what 'good' is to allow her idea to be 'good'. But Garcia wanted Emily and Hotch back. The FBI and extended law enforcement had already proven that all their revenue, expertise and protocol had come to naught. It was time to extend their net.

She could do this on her own. Morgan would never agree. Neither would Rossi. She couldn't bear to bring JJ into that kind of decision at this point in her new motherly life. That left Reid, and then the question became, could she trust him under the circumstances to agree with her, and then eventually help her? Garcia was confident that she could do this on her own, but did she want to? She had had enough of being solitary in her life. Living on the streets had taught her to be careful with whom you trust, and that when you did trust people, to only trust them with physical things, never your life or what you loved. Possessions could be replaced. The thing about her BAU family though, was that she did trust this group of people, she trusted them with more than her life. She trusted them with the truth and with the lives of innocents. But could she trust them with walking on the other side of the law? Could she trust them enough, to trust, that they would trust her? She seen their doubts before, their doubts about her. Frankly, though she had never kept such a big secret from them as she had when she had helped out those families. There had been an upside to the whole fiasco with Battle…she had seen the trust of her team. She thought over who she could trust with this stroll down the wrong side of the law.

Perhaps Reid was the correct choice.

She had to get out of Quantico to do it though, and she doubted the person she needed to talk to would take her seriously. She doubted that he would take Reid seriously either, but if she could download some images onto her laptop and show him…yes, that just might work. She would need Reid, she decided. Even though Reid was the least FBI-looking male in Virginia, his intellect would influence her target's decision. The least FBI-looking woman in Virginia? _That would be me, sweetie_, Garcia thought to herself.

Now she just needed to make her plan happen. It would be difficult to get out of her fortress, especially since she had not left it in over a week.

"I need some Vitamin D," she exclaimed, ignoring the surprised glances from her teammates, "Reid, you look like you could use some too, come with me." Making it an order meant he couldn't refuse.

Reid startled as he realized he had been included in this strange jaunt to the outside world. To stand and bask in the waning sun. He waited patiently by the door as Garcia unplugged a laptop from the larger grouping of machines and led him out of the building.

Inside, Garcia breathed a sigh of relief. All she needed now was to get Reid into a taxi, and for him to not ask questions in front of the cabdriver.

Reid was utterly bewildered, Garcia had wanted him to absorb Vitamin D from the sun, but now they were entering a cab, and driving to an unknown destination. Garcia was giving directions from the backseat. One look from her though had quelled any questions. Garcia always had her reasons even if you never knew or understood what they were.

Reid was startled when the streets started to look familiar. The oxidized wrought iron guards surrounding slim and leafy trees reminded him of something. He couldn't figure out what. There were the remnants of neon signs, their usual chemical luminescence dormant as their owners tried to be environmentally friendly. Not that twelve hours of dormancy really meant that much of a difference to energy consumption, but Reid appreciated the effort. He saw a bank of motorcycles, Harleys mostly, but on the edges, Yamahas, Suzukis and Kawasakis. That's when he realized where they were.

"Garcia…" he doubted his voice had ever held that much of a threat in it before.

"In a minute Reid." She replied. Garcia was busy paying the cabdriver, thanking him for the effort. The Cabbie grunted in reply and turned up his throaty Metallica song to within an inch of ear-splitting capacity. Reid left the cab quickly.

Garcia gazed at up the street that she had spent so much time analyzing in 2D. Now she started to see nuances and details that a flat-screen could never depict. Crevices in the brickwork and knobbly knots in the trees all came to the fore. Cracks and divisions in the concrete, blood and vomit stains on the street, carefully but not fully washed away. This was a street that had a lot of character. This street had seen a lot. This was the street where Smokey's Bar was. And she and Reid were standing outside of that Bar, Reid in an ill-fitting tan cardigan, beige slacks, off-white buttoned shirt, and his customary satchel. Garcia flittingly wondered if he even owned another bag, or if his closet was full of replicas. For herself, Garcia stuck out like a vibrantly colored poppy in a field of dandelions. Her faux snake-skin maxi-bag fit most of everything she could possibly need, including her laptop. There was a key-chain dangling off one end, clipped to over-extension with trolls, voodoo dolls and brightly arrayed sea creatures. Her favorites were the tri-colored turtles.

She took a breath and started into the bar. Reid's hand on her elbow halted her.

"Garcia, why are we here?" His troubled eyes peered at her intently.

"When you work on the side of the law, there a certain places you can't go. Certain avenues of information that you can't access. When I joined the FBI I lost a lot of my contacts, there are certain places even my techno-goddess abilities can't get to. We need to go underground with our search for Emily and the Hotch-man. This is underground central." Waving her hand toward the bar she pleaded with him to go with her, she wanted a wing-man for this particular journey.

Reid sighed, but there was no way he would live if Morgan ever found out he let Garcia go in there by herself.

He led the way in.

**I really did need to get that out of the way...**

**Arc**

**Love your reviews.  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**You are all very lucky. tfm bribed me to do this so I could read another chapter of one of her stories :) You should all thank her profusely.**

It might have been night time, it could have been morning. Hell, for all Hotch knew it was 3:30 in the afternoon, and he was currently waking up from an unknown amount of sleep.

He ignored the fact that Agent Prentiss was wrapped around his body, also asleep.

The darkness remained, and they were still unable to converse. Every hour Prentiss' well-being fell a little more. He could sense it. He didn't need eyes to see it, or ears to hear it. He didn't need the tactility of physical touch to be aware of the tremors and shudders that wracked her body as she tried to control her emotions. Her fear and rage permeated the small room. It invaded his consciousness. It didn't matter if she strayed from him or curled upon his side. He felt her no matter where she was. He understood her without words. But he didn't know if she could feel him. If she understood him. He didn't know how to comfort her without words. They didn't have a tactile relationship. Not like the ones she had with every other member of the team. Before this abduction they were building their friendship, now they had been thrust into this black world, devoid of speech, or understanding. The only ways he knew how to comfort her now weren't available given their current type of relationship. It didn't matter that The Observer thought they were a couple, they weren't. And there was only so far he would go in their depiction of that coupledom.

The Exponent, previously known as Christopher Malkin, watched The Observer warily. He did everything warily now. In fact, since The Observer had deviated from the prescribed course of action outlined in The Manual, The Exponent had been teetering on the precipice of vigilance and obsession.

It would be the 'right' time soon. But with the deviations, The Exponent was unsure. Nothing was playing out like the book had said it would. The Observer had not behaved like he should in over three days. Ever since Emily had yelled, and ranted at the ceiling that he was dead. Which was absurd. The Observer wasn't dead. He was right there. Pacing the peeling linoleum, muttering inconsequential things to himself. The Observer was strong, and impartial. He was not supposed to be involved like this. He was supposed to be true and unbiased, powerful and indomitable He was most definitely not supposed to change the prescribed rules. The Manual was quite explicit about the order that this _experiment_ of sorts was designed to do.

**THE MANUAL**

**Collated by The Observer**

Necessary components: The Observer

The Exponent

The Decider

The Female Counterpart

The Male Counterpart

This is a necessary outworking of the theory.

All that is accomplished and wrought out from this is viable and valuable information that shall accompany The Manual and it's creeds into the next stages.

Understand that the primary objective of The Manual is not this inception stage, but rather the end result of many subsequent trials and tests to follow.

That was the opening page. And it had instilled in The Exponent a sense of purpose, and a deepening sense of an ending, a conclusion. He knew then that whatever he had gotten himself into was of a greater worth than his small and insignificant life in Virginia. Family life was unimportant and unfulfiling; a drunken mother whose affections for her children consisted of not hitting you over the head when demanding another bottle of vodka. A weak and battered father, his love only to be voiced in the darkness of the night when his wife had passed out for the sixteenth time that month. School, where his individualism and silence were criticized and misunderstood, was obsolete and uninteresting compared to the importance his every word and action had in this place. He had been trained by The Observer, he knew his role, and understood it to a point.

The Observer still refused to let him read the last pages. And one chapter in the middle. In fact, now that he reflected upon it, there were a couple of pages, and lines elsewhere that The Observer had covered with strips of paper, effectively obscuring the lines contained within.

There had been delight the first time he read through The Manual. Those painstakingly hand printed instructions outlining the manner in which he (The Exponent) was to be taught. The couple's fate rested in the hands of The Decider. He at least knew that this role existed and that someone somewhere fulfilled that role. Sometimes though he felt as if…no, that couldn't be true. The Observer couldn't have been deviating from The Manual since the beginning. That was impossible.

He glanced toward the empty chair on his right. If what he had gleaned from The Manual was correctly understood, there should be a body occupying that chair. That, he was almost positive, was The Decider's throne. But where were they?

Every waking moment spent analyzing the situation had drained her of any strength. There was nothing she could do until The Observer decided it was time to move into the final stages. She wondered what the other victims were feeling, if they were okay, if they were surviving. She imagined them strapped into two chairs above the small room. The 'stage' her abductor had placed them in. Empathy rolled off her as she tried to picture the young teen on the left hand-side, and the college-aged person who would be placed on the right.

To have to watch their suffering (her's and Hotch's) was another form of torture in and of itself.

Could you imagine being tied down on a stiff and uncomfortable chair, lectured and beaten again and again into submission?

Learning, quickly and jarringly, by rote, reading and memorizing the information contained within a leather bound book thrust upon you by the man who abducted you?

Being accountable for clarifying the reasons of a couple's torture and abduction?

Watching the horror unfold on their faces as they realized the mad-man who had them, had forced an innocent child to witness your horrific torture, and then to validate it, to tell you why you deserved to be treated that way?

Or why you didn't?

That was the fate of the teen. The Exponent, she thought bitterly. Briefly her thoughts turned to those of the first Exponent. He had been an awkward boy, shy and undemanding. A loner, she supposed, but quirky, an individual. Unafraid to be himself, only afraid to be with others. In some ways, she was reminded of Reid. His intellect created a barrier with those who didn't have any self-confidence. _Reid_, she thought. How she missed him, and his physics magic. What she wouldn't give right now to see his eyes light up in fascination and playfulness.

She realized that she was still splayed across a sleeping Hotch, their breathing synced so that their bodies rose and fell in unison. She wished they could communicate. There was so much she needed to tell him. Would she ever get the chance, or would The Observer thrust them too quickly into the final stages, denying her the chance to explain, to allow Hotch the opportunity to know the reasons he had been so brutally beaten, and so viciously electrocuted.

She stretched her head up toward his chin. His slow breaths signifying his relaxed, sleeping state. Her hand was lying flat on his torso, the steady beat of his pulse reminding her that they were, at least for the time-being, still alive. She pressed a deliberate kiss to his jaw. Smiling slightly as his two or three week beard scratched her own skin. She snuggled back down in the crook of his neck. Her face turned into his throat. She hummed slightly almost without sound, only the movement, the vibrations were still there. Her fingers reflexively tightened around the fabric of Hotch's shirt. She need to figure out a way to say _thankyou, I'm grateful you're here with me_ without sound and without sight. She thanked whatever gods Garcia thanked that Hotch was still asleep. She didn't know how he'd take it that she had kissed him, without cause or provocation.

Hotch was not asleep.

***evil laugh* again.**

**What is it with me lately???**

**Arc, reviews are sunshine on a rainy day...(just a hint)  
**


	23. Chapter 23

**On with the show...**

Hotch was frozen. His brain would not comprehend the fact that Prentiss had just kissed him. Granted it was on his jaw, it wasn't any kind of improper or untoward action, but it was intimate. It was truly the closest and most open she had ever been with him. And obviously, she assumed he was asleep. He was quite positive that she didn't know he was awake.

But it meant something. Something important. And she was snuggling him. Not merely cuddled into the warmth that another human being provided. She was actually, of her own volition, _snuggling_ him. Her face was in his neck, her purr of contentment splicing down his spine. His hand tightened reflexively, he couldn't help it or stop it. His hand had been resting on the small of her back, loosely. But when she made that noise, although it wasn't truly a noise, it was more a feeling, a vibration of her body, his hand had inexplicably tightened, moving of its own accord to grasp her hip.

He felt Emily tense.

Hotch was awake, her mind suddenly realized.

Her intention had been to lie with him until he woke, she was still hugely tired from the stress and horror of their situation. But she had never, not for one instant, entertained the thought that Hotch could possibly be awake to feel her kiss, to know that she was this comfortable and relaxed in his presence. Especially not like this. Then his hand had moved and she had realized. She jolted slightly when his free hand came up to grasp her arm, the one that had draped itself over his body during the night (or whatever time it was when they had been asleep). He rubbed his hand slowly over her forearm, easing her concern that he would over-react…like she was doing.

He wanted to let her know, that everything was alright. As much as it could be. His hand started to move upwards again. It ghosted over her shoulder, rearranging her shirt as it went. It came up to her neck and his thumb brushed the column of her throat. Up and down, to the rhythm of their breathing. He was pleased when he felt her body relax.

Hotch wanted to touch her face, but that was too familiar. He wouldn't go that far without permission. He wanted her to give permission.

Emily was faintly surprised to realize that she wanted Hotch to touch her face, she wanted to feel his hands, his calloused, manly hands, on her cheeks and her jaw. Dare she think it? Even her lips. She was about to move her body more into his when The Smell returned. She ended up grabbing hold of Hotch's elbow hard. Her panic overriding any sense of self-control. She hated that smell. It truly was horrible. And from what little she understood of what had happened to Hotch, he had only been subject to it two or three times since their initial abduction, not like her. She inwardly braced herself for the coming bleakness. The unconscious void, where time passed without record.

Surprise overtook her as Hotch suddenly rolled them over. She was pinned, pleasantly, underneath him. His hand cupped her face, instinctively she breathed in, then she set about trying not to choke on the sickly sweet smell pervading the room.

There was a strange magnetic force compelling him to reassure her. But they had no words, no sight and no time. He tried to think of a way to convey to her that they were in this together, no matter what happened next.

Were they going to be separated? Emily thought. She didn't want that, Hotch was the only thing keeping her sane.

He leant even closer, his nose brushing against her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and made a decision. He gently but forcibly pulled her upwards, and toward the wall. He settled himself against it and positioned Emily in front of him. His arms locked around her body. He was going to make it as difficult as possible for The Observer to separate them. It was the last thing he remembered doing.

Christopher Malkin was scared. He had no problems admitting that.

The Observer was crazy.

It was the only explanation.

Nothing was going according to plan and logic dictated that since The Observer had deviated from the prescribed outline, nothing here could be trusted. He refused to think of himself as The Exponent anymore, he was Christopher Edward Malkin, fourteen years old. A loving father waiting for him at home and his whole future yearning for him to come and claim his place in it. The Observer had gassed the couple again. He didn't know what to expect next, but whatever happened he was on their side. He'd lie if necessary. There was no way he was going to let The Decider think they were guilty.

BIGBADBIGBADBIGBAD

The world was odd. Everything swayed and bubbled, colors were strange. She thought she heard God.

That couldn't be right.

The voice was too gruff for God.

She heard sobbing too, there was no sobbing in heaven…right?

The voice left, but she could see The Book.

She couldn't move her wrists she thought suddenly.

Did she still have wrists?

Hey wait, what's an elephant doing here?

Why is it purple?

It was balancing on a piece of string.

She laughed.

Who was laughing?

Vaguely, looking around…seeing only a boy in another chair.

Was that me?

No…I'm a girl.

What time was it?

I'm hungry Mr. Stomach said.

Swinging her head to the right she saw Expo..Expone…Expunge…ment?

Whatever!

Fear suddenly engulfed her, she remembered now.

She was in hell.

She was floating too.

Her chair wobbled.

The llama spat on the floor.

A spear of clarity broke through the darkness…There is no llama.

"Therrrrrrrre'sss no lla…ma"

Okay, who's drunk?

A crack of lightening startled her.

Another world paused for her viewing.

Hey, an alternate universe, cool.

Hey, there's another one.

Green and lightening, she thought brightly. Grinning to herself.

Hey it's inhabited. People live there.

Shock swallowed her when she realised the lightening was emanating from the man in the alternate universe.

It's brightly silver tendrils reached out across the void and stretched for her.

She passed out, her brain still active, blackness surrounds.

A memory she thinks.

Now there is a glass wall in front of her. A curtain behind that is shielding something, or someone, from view.

She is sitting in a chair again, but this time she has wrists. And it's not odd to know that. The chair is slightly comfortable too. She looks to the left. A serious man in a tweed coat. To the right, a reporter.

The curtain opens.

There he is. Panic rises.

Until she realizes that he is restrained, and that no harm can come to her.

He is strapped down onto a table, shaped like a cross.

Her brain tickles with the unwelcome thought that positioned that way he looks like Christ on the cross…crucifixed.

It begins.

It ends.

**I AM SO SORRY.**

**Truly I am. **

**I can't help it, I try to make everything better for our poor dear Emily and Hotch, and the muses refuse to cooperate.**

**I apologize for the big bad and the strangeness...**

**If you're truly way beyond confused, give me a review...state your confuson and I'll try to help you out, if it doesn't go against the whole 'purpose' of the story :)**

**Big Luv, Arc  
**


	24. Chapter 24

**A big shout out 'Thank you' to Sienna27, for her insights into the strangeness of last post's weirdness. And also for helping out with some of Smokey's thoughts in this piece :)**

**No Emily and Hotch, sorry. But I thought some of you might like to know what Garcia was up to ;)  
**

To say Smokey Tom was surprised, at the two FBI Agents strolling into his lion's den at four in the afternoon, was a slight understatement. And yes people, he could pick an agent four miles away in a blizzard regardless of their psychedelic outfit or school-boy gawkiness.

The lovely lady with bright eyes and sunny disposition cast a shrewd glance over his establishment, if she found anything distasteful her manner didn't show it. The skinny man, however, seemed to be cataloging anything and everything. He doubted if the boy was even old enough to be in this bar unaccompanied. He shrugged his shoulders at Lucas, the ever-present bartender, s_erve them_ the unspoken message. There was no need to create a fuss when it could be avoided.

But Lovely and Boy Wonder didn't want to be served, they made a beeline straight past him. Sliding into a booth near the back. Did they know that was his 'business' table?

Boy Wonder leant over to Lovely with a quick, indecisive glance around the bar. Smokey assumed he was saying something along the lines of 'What are we doing in this place', or 'shouldn't we ask to speak with him?'

Lovely merely put a reassuring hand on his arm, so she was the ring leader in this endeavor. He'd follow what protocol dictated and address her first.

Before he did that though, he wanted to have a little fun, "Lucas…give Lovely over there a Flirtini, Boy Wonder gets a…" Now that was hard to pick. Usually he had no trouble knowing what a customer would like, but Boy Wonder was an enigma. He had at first thought Scotch on the Rocks, then a Sex on the Beach (just to be funny), now he had himself confused. He wasn't used to second-guessing himself.

"Scotch?" Lucas asked.

Oh well, that makes two of us, Smokey thought. He nodded his agreement and went out back to make sure all of his 'sensitive' documents were in their proper place.

Reid was surprised when an alcoholic beverage suddenly appeared in front of him. They hadn't ordered. The hulking bartender had given him some sort of whiskey, or scotch, and Garcia had some strange monstrosity of a cocktail. He was on the clock though. He couldn't accept this.

"Drink up Reid." Garcia said, "We don't want to offend anyone now do we?"

He surreptitiously sipped at the proffered drink. Gasping as the low-end scotch burned his throat on it's way down.

Garcia was drinking her cocktail through a straw, grinning at the strange looks they were receiving from fellow customers. She took out her laptop and began the process of setting up. She still hadn't explained exactly why they had come to Smokey's Bar.

Reid wasn't happy about the development, but he couldn't leave her here because of Morgan, and well, his own sense of propriety. He also didn't want to stay here without knowing what she was getting him into. It was a definite lose-lose situation.

Just when Reid was beginning to expect that Smokey had gotten the hell out of dodge 'yes he did know colloquialisms', the man himself came over and joined them at their table.

He sat without saying anything. It was always better business sense to keep your opponents unaware and uncomfortable. Boy Wonder definitely wasn't comfortable being here. But Lovely, well, he wondered if anything ever made her uncomfortable. She knew life, of this he was certain.

"Were you aware that this is my business table?" He asked.

Their responses were comical. Boy Wonder's eyes grew larger, if possible, his shoulders twitching in surprise. Lovely seemed surprised too, but hers was borne out of an interested and obscure curiosity. She actually appeared pleased to have chosen Smokey's favorite table.

"So it would follow that we should do business." Lovely replied. He loved noir women, and he could tell she was shaping up to be just that.

"Unfortunately, I don't do business unsolicited."

"Oh, you know us." She had him interested now, that was for sure. But Smokey never forgot a face. If he had met them once upon a time, he would remember.

"I'm afraid I don't. And as much as I'm going to enjoy our rendezvous, I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up that I might actually be able to help you. I'm very particular in that regard."

"Oh we know. We're friends of a friend of yours."

Boy Wonder was watching them like a tennis match. Did he even speak?

"I doubt that, I don't have many people whom I like enough to call friend." Acquaintance, sure…colleague, definitely, fellow man, naturally…friend, very few.

"Seem familiar?" She replied. Turning her laptop around to show him the screen. It was Shadow, laughing in a photo with Boy Wonder and Lovely. Behind them stood three men, the first was that severe man he had come to know as Agent Hotchner. The other two were Agent's Morgan and Rossi; tall, dark and broody – Shadow's best friend 'Shaft', and Grumpy Bear. Hugging into Shadow was a petite blond woman, he had a flash of Julie Andrews' in _The Sound of Music_, but decided to call her Goldilocks instead.

They looked happy, like a family. He realized Lovely was telling the truth.

"You're with the FBI…how can _I_ help?"

Boy Wonder relaxed. Smokey was sure if this guy ever joined a gang, they'd put him on door duty, he'd be so hyper-vigilant no one would get past him without notice. Of course, then they'd need to partner him up with someone like Lucas.

"Yes we're with the cops. But there are places we can't go. Places you can." Lovely said.

"This is your idea, isn't it?" No supervisor would okay this avenue of investigation.

Lovely smiled. She didn't need to answer that question.

"Okay, show me what you've got."

Lovely started a slideshow. It depicted all shots of the surrounding streets. Various bodies filled the road in blasé walking strides, and some in drunken poses. A few cars in some shots, and a whole lot of late night peep show.

"This is the guy we're looking for, seem familiar?" She said pointing toward a recognizable figure haunting all the photos.

It was the Creeper, Shadow-taker. His eyes narrowed.

Garcia almost gasped at the sudden change in Smokey's demeanor. He'd been a joking, jovial teddy-bear of a man, and suddenly he was serial killer material. Reid tensed too.

The change in Smokey Tom reminded him of the time he and Hotch had been trapped in a room with another serial killer. Hotch had ever so calmly taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and prepared to fight to the death. Hotch had been so focused on the criminal, Reid wasn't sure if he even knew that another person was in the room. That was the look Smokey had right now. A fight to the death, at the exclusion of anyone or anything else.

The slideshow continued as Tom tried to retain every facet of this guy's walk, his clothing, his mannerisms. He realized that if Lovely had been tracking Creeper, there should be a shot of his motorcycle.

"Do you have his ride?" He attempted to mash a few buttons on the board, he wanted to check a theory.

She reacted like she had caught him attempting to pluck some feathers off a baby duckling. Stealing the laptop from under his outreached palm, she slid the computer quickly away from him. Stroking the clean lines lovingly, a picture of devotion.

He was right about her.

"His motorbike, girlie? Do you have a picture?" He kept his voice pleasant and soothing. Lovely wasn't convinced. She stuttered a small yes, giving him the evil eye and tapped a few buttons on the laptop.

The screen changed to Creeper astride a bike. A dark Yamaha. No stickers or any other signifying mark. It looked like it had been ridden straight off the production line. No personality.

"Can I have this?"

"Do you have an email address? I can send it to you." Lovely answered.

Smokey shook his head, he didn't deal with electronics so well. He waved Lucas over.

Garcia watched as the big, barrel man sauntered through the sea of pedestrians and tables.

"Lovely, here, needs an email address."

"You got Wi-fi?" Lucas asked.

Garcia looked at him and grinned, "Have I got Wi-fi?" What an absurd question. In about ten seconds, the file had been given and they were free to go. Only, Reid seemed hesitant.

"Mr…" he began.

"Smokey…I prefer my chosen name."

"How are you going to find him?" Reid was genuinely interested in his answer. If Smokey Tom could manage to find the UnSub (T.J. Parker) when the FBI and local law enforcement couldn't, his knowledge and techniques would be of invaluable assistance to the government.

"I think it would best if I don't answer you." Smokey replied.

Garcia smacked Reid on the arm, and whispered fiercely, "Remember, we're here because he has underground contacts that we would never be able to get, and he can do all manner of illegal stuff when we can't. You can't ask him that Reid!"

"I meant more, how will you start? Why was the picture of his motorcycle so important?

"Even ninety-nine percenters would never ditch their rides. It's a sacred bond. You're either a motorcycle person or you aren't. Find the bike, find the guy." He left them then.

Outside, in the dimming sunlight, Garcia suddenly exclaimed, "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you haven't slept in over a week?" Silence accompanied his statement. The pause dragged on. He realized he would have to come up with another answer.

"And you're not perfect." He added.

"I'm as close to perfect as anyone's ever going to get." She replied with a cheeky grin. Reid concluded she had let her initial consternation go.

Now they just had to hope that the rest of the team wouldn't figure out what they had done.

**There you go :)**

**Arc, please review I do so adore them  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you so much everyone for all your lovely reviews.**

**As promised, back to Emily and Hotch :)  
**

_We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves_.

_Patricia Sampson_.

Christopher sat in a room bled of color. An hour ago he had been set free of his confinement in the straight-backed chair. His wrists and ankles still had the phantom sensations of leather straps restraining him. He was in 'their' room now.

The Observer, with every passing moment acting less and less like The Observer described in The Manual, had brought him down here to get ready for the next stage of the experiment.

After waiting for the chemical to dissipate from the small room, he and the older man had descended the ladder. The Observer roughly separating the couple, jerkily with the man, but reverentially with the woman. He truly did believe that the couple were not meant to be together. He was positive one of them was adulterous.

Christopher knew The Observer thought it was the man. But why had he, long ago, acted like it was the woman who was cheating, with a man named Morgan? He'd seen the distress on Hotchner's face. It wasn't the pain of the beatings and the shock torture. He had been truly surprised to learn that they might be in a relationship. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. None of that mattered now. All that mattered now, was that he helped the couple to escape.

The Observer had forced him into helping tie them up. They were almost hog-tied. They're hands were bound in front of them, with long ropes twisting around behind their backs and around their fronts again, repeating the movement all the way up to their shoulders. It reminded him of those strait-jacket things you always see on television, without the jacket of course.

He cringed as he saw the beginnings of consciousness return to them. He was going to have to play The Observer's game and hope they understood he was on their side.

He thought back to the fantasy novels he loved so much. The heroes in those stories were never born strong and fearless. They worked hard to become that way. They overcame weakness and cowardice, destruction and death. They banded together with like-minded individuals, bolstered each other with courage and devotion. But the worst enemy of any brave hero was always their own mind. If you thought you couldn't do something, you had already lost the battle. You had to make yourself believe that you would survive, overcome, triumph. Sometimes…no one was coming to rescue you. Sometimes you had to wait for the perfect moment, sometimes you had to save yourself.

Hotch woke up suddenly. He immediately cataloged the restrictions on his body. He was tied up again. But this time the ropes went all the way over his torso, and his feet were free.

Where was Emily?

And why were the lights on?

Steady breaths and try not to scream. Those were the immediate thoughts upon consciousness for Emily.

Nightmares were a common occurrence for her around this time of the year, the anniversary. The one thing she had been trying to overcome for the past five years. Ever since she had realized she couldn't ignore the past. Since she had realized it was necessary to deal with certain things from her past. If she didn't it would just eat at her from the inside out. That's when she had first started going to see Agent Bordeaux. She thought about going to a psychologist or psychiatrist outside the FBI, but one of her old friends was dating him and she had just decided on a whim to give him a try. It had worked out well.

The only problem with her terrifying dream was, it hadn't been a nightmare. It had been an amalgamation of memories. The few she had of those weeks she had spent hostage, tied to a chair. Then her dream-memory had morphed into another time in her life, many years later. A time that was supposed to be the end. She had believed her mother initially, when she had said that getting justice would be the end of it. But it hadn't. True, it had felt good to know that what she went through had not gone unpunished, but it hadn't helped her. Not really. There was no sense of closure, no feeling of things being done, being finished. The end of the court case and the subsequent execution hadn't been the end of her troubles. That was when everything started to fall apart in her personal life.

Mother didn't understand. Couldn't understand, nobody could. Because they hadn't been there with her, hadn't gone through what she had. That was the main reason she had met with Bordeaux, she needed answers, she needed help. And profiling herself wasn't an option in this case. She had spent so long denying it, denying any feelings associated with it that she wasn't sure if she could even access those emotions. She was so splintered off that she couldn't remember how to access those parts of herself anymore. Bordeaux had worked with her, steadily re-uniting the disjointed parts of herself. It was a long and tedious journey. It was exhausting, and emotionally draining, and she had thought that she was finally finished with it.

Then Tobey O'Conner had decided that she was his perfect Bride. His perfect Snow White. The woman of his dreams. The only way to survive him was to pretend. But something within her had recognized, or held on too strongly with, that twisted idea of perfection. A part of her had longed to be that perfect, to live in that perfect world without fear, or hatred, or immorality. It had clung to that idea, wanting to fulfil it. That part of her, that desire, had overtaken herself. For a time it had been stronger, she had allowed it to control the rest of her.

Once her mind had sorted itself out, she had become nervous about the prospect of the next anniversary. The closer the date got, the more anxious she became. Even doubling her sessions with Bordeaux directly after the O'Conner incident hadn't helped. She had hid it from the psychiatrist for awhile. But Emily Prentiss was not one for shying away from the hard stuff. She had broached the subject with Bordeaux about a month ago, well a month ago before she was abducted. She hated that her problems had spilled over into her working life. The team were picking up on it too.

Emily finally made herself open her eyes. She had expected darkness. Surprised, light filled the room. She immediately began a search for Hotch. She hoped they had not been separated, she didn't know if she could handle that after everything else. Noticing that her upper body was restricted she used the momentum of her legs to propel her upright. She wobbled a bit, the after effects of The Smell wreaking havoc on her body. She didn't know how many more Smell attacks her body could take before her reactions started to become dangerous. She spun around, searching the small blank room for him.

That was exactly what Hotch was doing, although without the wobbliness.

They both turned in the same direction, Emily to the left and Hotch to the right. They met at their respective 180 degrees.

Hotch was thankful there was light, he didn't know how he was going to contact Emily if they were still plunged in darkness, unable to communicate AND tied up. Thankfully when he saw her he knew communication wasn't going to be as big of an issue as it had been in the darkness.

Their eyes did the talking for them.

"Um…" A strange voice penetrated their silent conversation. Emily and Hotch turned to see a young boy, a teenager. He was in the process of standing, his back against the wall, and a leather book in his hands. He seemed highly nervous.

"Dammit!" Emily exclaimed, and then cringed in anticipation. No noise sounded. She looked around the room in surprise. The noise was her deadliest enemy at this point and she was surprised it no longer existed.

"You are allowed to talk now." The boy said. She knew this must be The New Exponent.

"What's going on?" Hotch demanded.

"It is not time yet for that discussion."

"Are you The Exponent?" Emily asked. She might as well make sure she had a basic understanding of what was about to happen.

**Hehe, I hope you all enjoyed this next section.**

**Arc, please review.  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**Woo hoo! Another H & P chapter. I hope you're all pleased.**

Hotch looked at her completely bewildered. The Exponent? What was that? But he checked himself. He trusted Prentiss, with more than she knew. And he was a man of great self-control. He could wait til she had finished her interrogation before he demanded answers. That was if he managed to keep himself from throttling the teenager in the corner. If that boy was in any way connected with their abduction and torture, he could not be held accountable for his actions, no matter how much self-control he professed to have.

"I am The Exponent." The boy stated, "well…" he glanced upward, toward one of the cornices of the room.

"Where's The Decider?" Emily asked. Something very unusual was happening here.

"I don't…I mean…I haven't…"

"Have you seen them?"

The boy shook his head. Emily frowned. This wasn't at all the way this was supposed to play out. Why hadn't he been with The Decider this entire time. They were flipsides of the same coin. He would act as the representative of the couple; who were being played by herself and Hotch, and The Decider was supposed to decide, obviously. But if The Decider hadn't been through the whole process…well, that meant that The Observer had changed all the rules. And if The Observer had changed all the rules, then that meant she couldn't rely on her own memories of that time as much as she had hoped. Besides there was also the fact that she and Hotch weren't in a relationship, so how could The Observer believe that one of them was cheating. The whole point the first time this had happened was that one of the couple had, in fact, been cheating. And The Observer was positive about it, he had had proof. Which was why The Decider had had so much trouble deciding.

On the one hand, a clearly loving couple. Okay, so they might have had some troubles in the past but if the faithful partner had moved past it who was she to cast judgment. And most certainly the cheater deserved punishment, but again, The Observer didn't have them participating in a legal court case, there were no police, no judges or even a jury involved. He had them participating in some make-shift horrific version of his own perverted witch-hunt. There was no evidence, no presumed innocence. It was 'one of them is guilty…you decide'.

"Where is he?" Emily finally asked. It did no good to dwell on the past.

"I don't know. He went out after we tied you up. He…well, he didn't like your shirt." The Exponent paused, "I think he went to get you a new one."

Emily looked down and was surprised to note that her shirt was in tatters. She had forgotten, in all the darkness, that she had ripped it up to tend to Hotch's wounds.

Hotch was staring at her abdomen. Was she thinner than she used to be? He probably should stop ogling her.

Now.

Right about now, Hotch.

**Now. **

Drag your eyes away. Look at something else. He finally managed to get them off of Emily and to obey his instructions to focus on the boy called The Exponent. He couldn't be more than fifteen.

How in the world did he get dragged into this mess?

"How did you get to be here?" Hotch asked in a conversational tone. The boy seemed quite upset. He was looking toward Emily like she was some kind of savior. Given their current situation, that seemed slightly unbalanced.

"I woke up here, about two and a half weeks ago. The Observer got me while I was sleeping…but he seemed familiar." The boy's eyes flicked between Hotch and Emily.

"Why familiar?" Hotch inquired.

"I don't know…he just seemed," he shrugged, "I think I knew him, or at least, seen him somewhere, before. But I can't place it. He said he had been watching me though."

Christopher wondered how much he should tell them about his personal life. If he was going to get them to trust him, above anything The Observer might say, he was going to have to be pretty honest. Especially about the things he didn't want people knowing. He chanced a glance at Emily, (The Female Counterpart), she was shivering badly. It wasn't cold, he hoped she was alright.

"The Observer knew things about my life." Christopher told Hotchner.

"What kind of things?" The man's voice was harsher than The Observer's but there seemed to be real compassion in it. He didn't hear a lot of compassion these days. He would get into trouble at school for not participating in physical activities, sport and the like. But he didn't want to draw attention to the marks and bruises on his body. His mother didn't care about leaving marks. It would just mean more violence if anyone ever noticed. But every time a concerned teacher mentioned his lack of participation in school activities, it just meant more violence and drunkenness at home. He wished his teachers weren't so interested in him. He wondered if people knew he was missing.

"He knew I don't like sport, he knew the kind of books I read. He knew about…" Christopher drifted off. He'd spent so long denying it to the outside world it was difficult to say it now. In this small room with only two other occupants, he looked toward the ceiling, was The Observer back?

"What did he know about?" Hotchner was standing awkwardly. The ropes had to be uncomfortable but neither of the couple were complaining. In fact, Christopher couldn't remember them ever complaining. The Manual clearly stated that soon after being reunited they would start complaining, blame each other and start to fight. This was when The Observer would bring him down to explain what was happening to them. But of course, The Observer had changed everything when he turned off the lights, and had not allowed them to talk.

It was only at this moment that Christopher realized the couple had in fact, never complained, blamed each other or argued. He thought that even the most well-adjusted person might start to behave that way, but these two never did. If anything, once they had started talking about The Observer, Emily had known something important. And as soon as she had tried to tell Hotchner, The Observer took everything away. Christopher remembered that Hotchner was waiting for him to say something.

"The Observer knew about my home-life. He knew about my parents' relationship."

"That you were being abused?" Hotchner asked.

How did he know that?

"My parents love me." He stated.

"I don't doubt that," Hotchner replied, "but which one of them loves you enough to not abuse you?"

Christopher remained silent.

"This isn't important right now," Emily intervened. Her shivering had worsened. She was leaning sideways against one of the walls. Her legs shaking violently as she kept up the pressure to remain standing.

"Are you alright?" Christopher asked, walking over to help her.

Hotchner got there first. Which was quite surprising given his restrictive bondage.

"Em? Emily?" He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch her. Christopher thought it would be better to untie them. Just as he was about to untie Emily's knot she spoke, surprising both of the men.

"No, don't…" She slowly slid down the wall til she was resting on the ground. Hotchner slid down too, to support her. "When he comes back he'll notice. You're not supposed to untie us until The Decider comes."

**I think it's well established that, 'yes, I am evil'.**

**You'll live with it.**

**A strange new occurrance has been discovered: Reviews make Arcadya post faster!**

**:) Bribery will get you everywhere!**

**Arc  
**


	27. Chapter 27

**All my lovely addicted readers better lap this one up...last Em/Hotch chapter for a while... (I thought I'd better give you guys some warning) ;)**

"How do you know all this?" Hotch finally asked. Emily's head was resting on his shoulder. Her shivering had not abated, it was gradually increasing in intensity. The boy, The Exponent, was sitting cross-legged in front of them. His childlike interest focused solely on them. He too seemed interested in her answer.

Emily sighed slowly, her head dipping a little closer to his throat. She just wanted to curl up in Hotch. She wished they made Hotch-smelling blankets. Hotch-smelling material. Eau de Hotch. She'd buy every piece of stock and live in them. She'd probably make an entire year's worth of clothing out of the fabric if it didn't lose his scent. It was full of security, and strength. It bolstered her. She felt like she could do anything, accomplish anything when his scent was around. Her brain nudged her, it wasn't so much his smell was it? It was him. It was Hotch that made her feel invincible, it was Hotch that made her feel powerful, relaxed, it was Hotch that made her feel more womanly and more competent than any other thing or person. She wanted to feel his arm around her again. But she knew he was giving her everything he could right now. And they had bigger problems than her allergic reaction to The Smell. She needed to tell Hotch everything that could be of use, they didn't have much time left.

"He's done this before." She began. "But not this Observer." Oh this was an incredibly bad start.

She shook her head in frustration.

Hotch knew exactly what she was feeling. He bumped her a little with his shoulder. "Start from the beginning. Gloss over the unimportant bits. Do the highlights."

"You want me study group this?" She asked, a hidden smirk peeking out through her hair-veiled face.

He appreciated her attempt at humor. He'd carry it on if it made her feel more comfortable. He gave her a small, half smile.

She loved it when he smiled. When he allowed his true self to show through the indestructible Agent Hotchner persona. She swallowed, she would have to distance herself from the past to tell this story.

"About fifteen years ago. A couple, a college student and a teenage boy were abducted. The man who did this called himself The Observer. He was convinced that one of the couple was committing infidelity. He set about a program, if you will, a method to prove it to himself. He couldn't handle the idea that he wouldn't be able to make an unbiased, impartial moral judgment. I guess he considered himself the injured party. He didn't trust himself to make the decision."

"Emily." The Exponent interrupted, "The Observer isn't old enough for him to have done that all those years ago."

She thought it was sweet that this boy was trying to determine what was going on and why she was so wrong about his Observer.

"It's true Emily," Hotch added, "The Observer is barely 30" He hadn't meant to interrupt her story either, but it was odd. And Hotch wanted The Exponent to feel as included as possible. If he could get the boy to identify more with them than he did with The Observer, they had a slim, but better chance, of getting out of this unscathed.

"I know." She almost laughed. They didn't understand, but they would. "Suffice to say, the couple suffered through basically what we have Hotch. The man was…" she steeled herself to say it. Why was it always more difficult to voice the bad things when they happened to people you knew? She never had trouble saying the words when men and women were tortured in vastly more despicable ways than Hotch had been. Perhaps familiarity really did make all the difference.

"The man went through what you did. And the woman what I did. Expect she didn't have to deal with the same amount of The Smell as me."

"Why's that?" The boy asked.

"I didn't know at first, but now I'm almost positive. It's because Your Observer didn't want me to see him yet."

The boy crinkled his eyebrows at her. He didn't understand what was going on.

Why did she keep maintaining that there were two versions of The Observer. Had the anaesthetic really gotten to her that much? Was she going insane from all the darkness? Could lack of communication really make you go crazy? He didn't think so. Hermits might be odd and lacking in social etiquette and hygiene but they weren't usually nutcases. Not unless they started out that way the begin with.

"Look, Your Observer is doing all of this out of some strange re-enactment I suppose. I'm not sure. I certainly can't think of any reason _why_ he would want to." Emily looked up at Hotch. She was weakening. She wouldn't be surprised if she fell asleep soon. She'd rather do it now when The Observer wasn't here.

"Em, what else?" Hotch jiggled her again. He must have know she was fading. There were things he needed to know. She fought her weaker nature, she wanted, needed and damn well would do this before she fell asleep again.

Hotch didn't want to have to make Emily keep talking in her current state. But it was vital that he learn everything he could while they were freely able to converse. Her shivering and shaking was the worst he had ever seen it. He doubted she could take another knocking out. Her reaction was even worse than the last time. He jiggled her again.

"The Last Exponent did his job perfectly. I expect when The Observer comes back you'll go through those motions too."

The Exponent looked at Emily with a start. He had been staring at the two of them in silence. Hotch thought he was assessing their closeness, trying to figure out if they really were a couple. Well, if his hands were free Hotch would have played up that angle, but right now he couldn't. He'd have to remember to do it with words instead.

"He tried to get the couple to come clean about their infidelity. Openly confess to their indiscretions. Finally, Roberto Manassas did. His wife was understandably hurt, but not altogether shocked." Emily smiled grimly. "Apparently, she'd had her fair share of extra-marital dalliances too."

Hotch felt her lean more into him, she began to speak faster. She obviously knew she was going to pass out soon.

"The Exponent finished up with the couple. Then it was The Decider's turn. But she wouldn't co-operate. She figured if the couple had reconciled there wasn't really any 'judgment' to be made."

Hotch almost smiled when he saw her bound hands try to make the 'air commas' people so frequently used these days.

"The Observer became violent and hostile…After a couple of days of The Decider refusing to make a decision he-"

Hotch felt Emily slump.

He looked down at his lap in shock. Emily's upper torso and head were awkwardly leaning across his thighs. His bound hands were crushed under one of her shoulders and her head.

"Can you help me rearrange her? It won't be comfortable to sleep that way." He asked the boy.

"Sure." The Exponent clumsily pushed and pulled Emily around. Hotch noted he must not have too many female friends. He seemed very unsure of where to put his hands.

"That's fine, thank you."

Emily's head was now resting on his lap. Hotch had managed to loosen some of the ropes during Emily's recounting. He could move his wrists and hands with some ease now. He fixed Emily's hair. There wasn't much to do know except wait.

**There you go!!!**

**I hope everyone is starting to get a better idea of what The Observer is up to...although I still really enjoy keeping you all off balance :)**

**Arc  
**


	28. Chapter 28

**Ah...my little BAU team is still in Garcia's dark cave...don't worry, firey-lightbugs will arrive soon...**

Morgan was resisting the impulse to pace. He didn't want Bordeaux analyzing him as well.

Where were Garcia and Reid? Catching some rays didn't take this long.

Fifteen minutes, tops. Then he was pulling out the big guns. Kevin Lynch would be tracking Garcia through her computer-babies and she'd damn well thank him when he was done with her too.

Thankfully, he didn't need to commandeer Lynch. Garcia rang, asking the team, plus Bordeaux since it didn't look like he was leaving anytime soon, what they wanted for dinner.

A quick vote had them opting for Chinese.

Rossi and JJ were monitoring the BOLOs. Nothing so far. Bordeaux was scrolling through Emily's file on Garcia's computer. Morgan and Rossi both hoped he didn't accidentally move anything on Garcia's desktop, desk or her army of figurines. They really didn't need to deal with another missing person. One that they would be hard pressed to find. Garcia was certainly devious when she wanted to be.

Garcia burst through the door, Reid trailing behind her with a mountain of take-away food piled up in his spindly arms. Or at least their thinness was exacerbated by the stack of food teetering over him. She quickly cleared a space on her desk, and assisted him with laying everything down. The team quickly chose a carton of food each and dug in. The room was filled with the muted sounds of wooden chopsticks scraping and clasping at food, the munching of jaws and teeth on cuisine and the ever-present hum of the electrical equipment.

Reid was ruminating on the conversation he and Garcia had had with Smokey Tom. He didn't quite know what to make of the man. Of course he had made a preliminary profile of him, but it hadn't illuminated _why_ Emily might like him, or why Smokey was so intent on helping the FBI find T.J. Parker. Although they purposefully hadn't given Smokey the UnSub's name. They didn't need to break every rule in the handbook now did they? He wanted to at least keep some semblance of adherence to the law in his activities. But Garcia seemed to not care one way or the other if it meant retrieving Emily and Hotch from the man. Reid wasn't sure what that meant for them in the long run. He didn't know if he wanted Garcia to break the law all the time. Granted, her position at the FBI allowed her to do certain…quasi-respectable, illegal things, but for the most part anything that she did was under the banner of being sanctioned by the Federal Government. Reid didn't think that contacting Smokey Tom, and giving him information on the UnSub, was exactly what the FBI had in mind when they offered her the technical analyst position.

Rossi watched Penelope Garcia closely. She was typing one-handed while feeding herself with the other. If he moved any closer she would realise what he was up to. He didn't want that to happen. She seemed to be searching for some kind of motorcycle on the internet. Was that a buyer's page? Now she seemed to be in a cataloge of motorcycles. What exactly was she doing? Her eyes widened and a long noodle fell off her chopstick and onto the armrest of her swivel chair. She didn't notice.

He quickly finished off his Moo Goo Gai Pan. He could tell she was about to reveal something and he wanted to be ready when she did. He watched her closely as he received a fortune cookie from JJ. Breaking the cookie and unfolding the paper trapped inside, he held it in his hand while chewing on one of the broken pieces. He tried to see what Garcia was doing now. Her food was forgotten and her hands were flying over the keyboard.

"What does yours say Rossi?" JJ asked.

He looked over at her surprised, then remembered the slip of paper in his hand. "Ah, 'Next time you get the opportunity, go on a roller-coaster'." He quirked a smile at her and ate the second half of his cookie.

"Do you ride roller-coasters?" Reid inquired.

"Not recently." He replied, glancing back to the paper in his hands.

"Reid what does yours say?" JJ asked passing everyone their fortune cookie.

He obediently snapped open his and unwrapped the fortune, "Everybody feels lucky having you as a friend."

"That is so sweet," Garcia mumbled from her catatonic state.

"Morgan?" JJ prompted.

It seemed she was trying to distance herself from the situation, Derek decided he would help her have this sliver of frivolity. While all the team struggled with the disappearance of Hotch and Prentiss, JJ had the added pressure of longing for Henry. She felt torn between her loyalty to the team and her desire to be with her son. Any small moment of happiness would benefit her. "Well, let's see here…" he made a show of shaking the cookie, trying to hear the paper rolling about inside, he cleared his throat, making sure most of the attention in the small room was on him said, "Soon life will become more interesting."

Silence followed his statement.

"I don't know if I can handle any more excitement at the moment." Morgan said.

"Technically the omikuji said you'd be experiencing something more _interesting_ in life, not that it would become more exciting." Reid replied, 'although I suppose it would be accurate to state that the 'fortune cookie' predicted that, considering the fortune cookie phenomenon is an Americanization of the traditional Chinese omikuji which-"

"Oh okay Reid we get it, my turn now." JJ interrupted, she was pretty sure no one wanted a historical update on the origins of the fortune cookie. "The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it." Even Garcia was pulled out of her trance at that, JJ's face seemed to crumble. Way to bring Jayje down, she mentally scolded the cookie.

"My turn," she sang gaily, snatching one out of Agent Bordeaux's proffered hand. Everyone knew they were doing the fortune cookie cycle for JJ's benefit. "Your hard work will payoff today." She stared at the small piece of paper for a little while. They weren't _really_ fortunes, were they?

"Ah, my says 'Keep your eyes open. You never know what you might see'." Bordeaux added.

"I'm sure you're allowed to blink." Rossi commented in his usual rough voice.

"I would hope so." Bordeaux replied with a smile.

Their quiet interaction seemed to bring JJ back out of the dark corner she had retreated to.

"No, you're not allowed to blink anymore." She said with a tentative smile, "you'll ruin the fortune."

"I'll try my best." Bordeaux replied, "But I feel compelled to warn you…I've never won a staring contest in my life."

JJ appreciated his effort, she subconsciously flipped her hair back over her shoulder and focused on what Garcia was doing.

Bordeaux was staring at the monitor depicting Emily's file. He was disturbed by it. He'd gone over it countless times now, and there was absolutely no record of her involvement with the initial trauma. It was highly troubling. Even though Emily hadn't been with the FBI at the time, it was a matter of public record that she had been involved. So, where was the record? Even a slight mention of her involvement with the court case would suffice. But there was nothing. No mention, anywhere. Otherwise, he was quite certain Garcia's expertise would have picked up on the 'anniversary' straight away. And since she clearly hadn't, perhaps there was more to the file than met the eye.

**Okay, so really a whole lot of not much happened in this post, but I needed to the team to feel the love. They need to have some kind of a break from the big bad darkness for at least three seconds...**

**Any one else agree???**

**Arc  
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	29. Chapter 29

**More TEAM!!!**

Garcia was busy trying to find T.J.'s motorcycle. It had taken some time to identify the exact make and model, but once she had her programs were running down security camera snapshots trying to locate the vehicle. Sadly, there wasn't much more to do on that front. She had a feeling that Smokey and his crew would find the bike before she did.

Bordeaux was convinced there was more to Emily's file than they were currently seeing.

"Miss Garcia?" he began.

"Garcia is fine."

"Garcia, is there a way to check on an electronic database if something had been removed?"

"Of course there is. What kind of database are we talking about?"

She wasn't facing him, she was still typing on her keyboard, and the majority of her focus was directed at her computers.

Everybody else was patiently and quietly awaiting the results of Garcia's latest searches.

"FBI databases."

That got everybody's attention focused on him.

"Any one in particular?" Garcia's eyebrow rose. She definitely had an inkling of what he was interested in.

"Say, you had somebody's file." She nodded. "And, you know for certain that an event had occurred some years ago."

"Yes." She added, drawing out the word so that she sounded like a python.

"But upon reviewing said person's file, the event was not there. And there was no other indication that anything had happened at all."

"Ah-uh."

"Is it possible to find out if it had been removed, or moved, or disguised?"

"Well, technically speaking, that shouldn't even be possible with a FBI database. There would always be some record of it. Or, if it was a classified file, there would be firewalls and protection programs shielding it." Garcia's mind was whirling at a million gigabytes per second.

"But what if it was just an event. That should be there, but isn't?"

The entire team was abnormally quiet. They knew exactly what Bordeaux wasn't saying. Why hadn't it occurred to them earlier? When Agent Bordeaux had 'explained' Emily's involvement in a past case, they all should have known that there would be some marker in her file.

"Then there would be a definite ghost in the machine, I suppose. A path left behind by whoever deleted the event. They would have left some form of a trail…a sign or an imprint, digitally. No matter how good they think they were in their subterfuge, I am Queen of the Subversive."

Her fingers were flying over her keyboard now, with a greater intensity than Bordeaux had ever seen in her.

He relaxed, the team where getting quite adept at understanding his hints without getting angry at him for keeping Emily's secrets. He hoped they truly did understand doctor/patient confidentiality. He really couldn't break that without express permission. And even though he truly did believe Emily would grant it under the circumstances, without permission, his hands were metaphorically and physically tied.

Ambassador Prentiss sat alone in her exquisite study watching the street lights splinter through the flowing curtain. The windows were open. Not something she usually allowed or purposefully did. It was bad sense to leave a window open when your enemies could use it to enter your house and abduct your children. Not that that had ever happened to her. But still, Elizabeth Prentiss was thorough in everything she did. She understood the dangers of her job. She always had, a part of her reveled in the knowledge that her life would always be revolving around danger, that as a woman, especially back when she started this vocation, she was an oddity, something to be feared. And usually she encouraged that idea, she liked people to be slightly afraid and intimidated by her. She knew her very existence as an Ambassador to the Middle East and the Russian Bloc on the global front was an unusual facet of Western society. Nowadays woman were respected in political vocations, actually any vocation. And a lot of her own work had added to that fact. She was a great asset to the Government, and she was pleased with the knowledge that everyone important recognized that.

The reason she had dismissed her personal secretary for the evening was a simple one. Her daughter, Emily, had been missing for nearly three weeks now. Her job was a dangerous one, in some aspects more dangerous than Elizabeth's had ever been. It wasn't a wholly unusual thought to expect that she would be personally in danger at some point over her career. And she was thankful her informants kept their prying eyes well away from Emily's notice, or anyone else on her team. The person who was currently under her command was a sweet man, a little too easily frightened but that only added to the ease with which he had infiltrated the team. Not that she had instructed him to do that. No, all she had ever instructed him to do was keep an eye on her daughter, and to report back any dangerous situations. Any personally dangerous situations. The man had somehow, through another completely unrelated avenue, been instructed to personally deal with the team and had consequently become a regular if periphery individual to their usual business.

She had, therefore, known Emily had been hurt in Milwaukee, before her daughter had ever notified her. Which she reminded herself didn't happen until three weeks later, by email. One sentence…Mother, was injured during a case, nothing to worry about, Emily.

Their relationship was strained, and that was mostly her own fault. It was the same with whatever had occurred in Alleghany County. Emily had never told her what happened there. She had understood from her informant that Emily had been abducted by a man named Tobey O'Conner, who believed she was the incarnation or embodiment of Snow White. Elizabeth had been furious when she realized Emily had been missing for days. That the FBI had no intention of letting her know. She had called Mr Lynch up and demanded he find out why.

_Emily_ hadn't wanted anyone informed unless she had been missing for over five days. Elizabeth was irate, but at the same time she saw the courageousness of her daughter. Understood her intentions, there was really no reason to bother her family for any shorter amount of time. In her job, she was always in danger. Elizabeth smiled, planning ahead was always one of her daughter's specialities.

But this. This was too close to home. This wasn't supposed to be happening. And it definitely couldn't be a coincidence. The anniversary of James Russell. It was too much to bear. The man was dead. Executed before the law's very own eyes. How was this possible? But even that, she knew.

Mr Lynch was keeping close tabs on the team, and their investigations. Tommy-Joel Parker had snapped. Gone insane. She shook her head. It did no good to think of this now. How was she going to help her daughter get out of this mess. She hadn't been in the country the last time. She wasn't going to be unavailable again. But how could she insert herself in the Behavioural Analysis Unit's investigation without seeming too knowledgeable. Being an Ambassador wasn't simply about meeting with high ranking dignitaries, she had done her fair share of spying too.

**Okay...so again, not too much happened. But the fic can't all be about Derek running after bombs and getting blown up in trucks, or Hotch having a car explode in his face, or Emily and Reid getting beat up by UnSubs, or Garcia being shot by stupid men, or JJ having to shoot people and getting eaten by dogs...Has anything happened to Rossi yet???**

**Sorry, went off on a tangent there, hope you all enjoyed it :)**

**Arc  
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	30. Chapter 30

**On with the show. **

**Geez, I hope they figure things out soon, but I guess it's really my own fault...allowing characters to do want they want when they want to is not necessarily conducive to writing a short fic :)**

Pop-ups were creating a blinding tornado on Garcia's screen. Morgan was surprised she could actually see anything at all. From the look on her face, he knew she was chasing someone. Whoever it was had left a trail, breadcrumbs, footprints in the sand, and Penelope was currently tracking down every single one of them and following it home like a little lost puppy.

He knew it was getting later and later into the night. He'd have to start prodding JJ to leave soon. She wouldn't on her own. Nobody wanted her away from Henry for too long. _When_ they found Prentiss and Hotch, neither one of them would be happy to find out they'd kept JJ from her newborn son. And it wouldn't do to anger both of them at the same time. That would be like World War 3000, nuclear, atomic, hydrogen, and whatever else kind of bomb that had been invented by then, going off in everyone's ears every moment of every day until the end of time. Then, the only possible way to end the inhumane suffering inflicted on mankind was for whoever Prentiss or Hotch had deemed in the wrong to figure out a way to make it up to them. They could be the headless horseman, the boogieman and Sweeney Todd combined if they wanted. It was even more disturbing when Prentiss got in that mode.

Hotch was understandable when he went 'Uni-Bomber' postal. He already had that hard edge in daily life. It wasn't much of a stretch to see him turn into the monster that scared all other monsters. But Prentiss, she played a whole other board game. If you thought you were playing Ludo, it turned out you were playing Chess. If you somehow figured out you were playing Chess, she turned it into Monopoly. And she owned all the properties.

Morgan sighed.

And Garcia gasped.

JJ and Reid stood a little straighter. Garcia had definitely found something.

"I can't…how could he…" Garcia let out a strangled noise from the depths of her throat.

Morgan involuntarily backed away from her. He'd seen his Princess set to tear the esophagus out of men before, but this was an entirely new experience. She looked like she could punch a hole through her computer monitor. And her digital babies were a very significant part of her life.

"This is…this is…"

"Baby girl…" He caught hold of her hands and swiveled her around to face him, "single words, deep breaths…explain."

"Emily…file…tampered." Her mouth was moving like a guppy and her eyes were as glassy as a taxidermy-ed turtle.

"How?" Morgan asked.

"Who?" Inquired Reid.

"When?" Questioned Bordeaux.

"Hacked. It had better not be who I think it is. And I'm not sure about the when just yet. It's harder to read, nobody consciously time-stamps a hack. There'd be no anything to find if somebody had noticed the hack in the first place. The security programs would have picked up on the breach and shut down…It would take too long to figure that out anyway." Garcia said, she seemed to have found a functioning voice box. While she had been explaining all of this to the team, she had been emailing, and tracing one Kevin Lynch.

"Hello my beautiful tech Queen." He answered through his web-cam.

She didn't answer him, merely stared at the monitor in an extremely hostile fashion.

"Ah…Pen? Is everything alright?" His nervous voice tweaked in self-preservation.

"Would you like to guess?" She asked.

The team tried to quietly shuffle away from Garcia. They didn't want her lashing out with a plastic figurine and accidentally maiming one of them.

"What is the one thing I told you to never do?" Her voice was still incredibly hostile, but still and deadly like a cobra, even Morgan was a little nervous.

"Um…mess with your stuff?"

"And…"

"That was it, that's the only rule." He looked like he was sweating through the pixelated view.

"I'm pretty sure there was something else mentioned about _my_ team."

"Oh that…" Lynch tried for the nervous chuckle. Morgan shook his head sadly, that was never going to work.

"NOW is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"You have to understand-"

"I don't have to understand anything!" Garcia broke in.

"Right. Of course not. But, it was before I ever knew you, any of your team."

JJ smiled at the thought that Lynch was convinced Garcia ran the team. On second thoughts, maybe she did? She certainly seemed to know everything that might be happening, or even possibly could, would or might happen.

"Keep going."

"Um…I was approached by a…high ranking dignitary. They wanted me to…to um…" Lynch fiddled with Star Wars Clone-Trooper prototype to left of the screen.

"Yes?" Garcia should learn more interrogation techniques, Reid thought. She was really quite effective.

"I was asked to monitor someone. I had full permission to. I would never do anything illegally if that's what you're worried about. I was helping her out, she said that it would benefit national security. They wouldn't lie."

"You erased something from that persons permanent FBI file."

"I never…" Lynch looked down at the keyboard, obviously in deep thought. But to every profiler in the room, including JJ, it truly did look like he didn't know something was missing from the file. "No. I promise you Garcia. I've only ever monitored her and reported back. I've never messed with her files."

"How long have you been spying on my team?"

"About three years…"

"Wait…you said you're working for a She?" Morgan was sure Garcia would be throttling Lynch by now if he hadn't been at home at his desk, many miles from Quantico.

"Ambassador Prentiss." Bordeaux answered instead of Lynch.

"It looks like we need to have a little, one-on-six conversation with the Ambassador." Rossi said quietly, but with an extremely menacing air.

"Kevin Lynch…call Mrs. Prentiss. Tell her the BAU wants a word." Garcia ordered, her voice still fuming with anger.

"On it."

Elizabeth Prentiss was waiting by her phone. It was not really waiting she supposed. She was actually attempting to work up the courage to call Supervisory Special Agent Rossi. She had information for them. What made it all the more uncomfortable was the fact that she would have to explain _why_ she knew they needed her help. Add in that she had purposefully used her connections for a completely selfish act…there was a pretty good chance, if the BAU team decided, she may not be an Ambassador for much longer.

She picked up the handset and stretched out a finger to start dialing.

The phone rang.

"Hello?" She asked cautiously.

"Ambassador Prentiss?" A nervous male voice inquired.

"Yes…who is this? How did you get my direct number?"

"This is Kevin Lynch…" Her informant.

"Any news about my daughter?" after a slight pause Elizabeth continued, "You usually email me the information."

"Um…Ma'am, I'm not alone…" He sounded extremely more panicky than any previous interaction she had ever had with him.

"Who is with you?"

"Um…" His voice trailed off.

"Mother of Emily." A voice began, strangely mixed with hostility and brightness, "This is Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia speaking…where have you put the files you stole from the FBI?"

**Hehe...I love Garcia.**

**Anyway, Reviews are the nourishment of my artistic soul...(hint)**

**Arc  
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	31. Chapter 31

**This a little bit team, and a bit something...or should I say someone...else :)**

If it were possible, Rossi would have sworn in court that he heard the Ambassador stutter.

Garcia might have been grateful to the Ambassador for once, long ago, helping her to infiltrate a Russian bank. But today was the day that all that help meant nothing. Emily and Hotch were in danger. And the Ambassador had the information to save them. Well, at the very least she had the information to point them in the right direction.

"Mrs. Prentiss. We don't have the time for you to try and hold onto your dignity. Where is the file?"

"It's Ambassador Prentiss." Emily's mother tried to correct her.

"I don't care." Garcia said bluntly.

"Ambassador Prentiss," Bordeaux interrupted, "Do you have the files?"

"I have hardcopies…"

"How long for you to access them?" Rossi asked.

"About ten minutes. I always keep them with me." Ambassador Prentiss sighed.

"Agent Reid and I will come out to your house to pick them up. It's imperative that we read them as soon as possible." Rossi said. He purposefully chose Reid for his eidetic memory. At least that way, they'd have another person who knew what was going on and could answer their questions. Bordeaux was proving to be too much of a mind-field of confidentiality. It was getting frustrating, even if he did understand the psychiatrists reasons. He didn't even want to imagine what Agent Bordeaux must be feeling. To know everything but not be able to explicitly help or explain. Some new form of torture, to be sure.

"I understand Agent. I will be waiting." Ambassador Prentiss replied. Garcia cut the connection.

"Morgan, JJ, there really isn't anything for you to do until we get those files and bring them back." Rossi said. He glanced at Agent Bordeaux who seemed fine with the idea that he was to remain too.

"Why couldn't we all just go with you to Ambassador Prentiss' house?" JJ asked.

"Because we're going to need Garcia's computer skills once we know everything that's going on. I suggest you go home to your son and partner." He replied.

"And I'm not going because I might be tempted to do something Emily might not forgive me for." Morgan added. His was having a hard time clamping down on his anger. He couldn't believe that Emily's mother would infiltrate the FBI so cunningly and ruin any chances that they might have found their team members two weeks ago. If they had known that the abduction might have been related to this nefarious event in Emily's past, their profile would be much bulkier than the slim; male, motorcycle, organized, outline they had at the moment.

"That's why Garcia is staying here too." Rossi added, smirking at Penelope.

"Humph!" Garcia answered, there were way worse things she could do on the internet than any physical retaliation she might come up with. Rossi mustn't know her very well if he thought that. Then it hit her, he did know that…now, what kinds of things could she do to Ambassador Prentiss' bank accounts that would freak her out but not really damage her in any way. Emily would never forgive her if she tried anything too hardhat on her mother. Family was one thing you never messed with, no matter how badly they screwed up.

Rossi and Reid left immediately, the sooner they got to Ambassador Prentiss' place the sooner they could come back and find Emily and Hotch.

BIGBADBIGBADBIGBAD

Doug was, kind of, a tolerated member in his gang.

He loved his motorcycle Bluebird. Bluey to the guys. He could race with the best of them. He was a good look out and an even better companion on a road trip. But he didn't really 'get' the whole underground, criminally faceted street life. He had a an odd houred job at Smokey's Bar. He was one of the myriad of workers that Smokey had taken pity on and helped out in some small, but infinitely appreciated way. He also couried items that Smokey didn't trust the postal service to handle. He was trusted, just not with anything too important or dangerous. But Doug didn't mind. He took care of his stuff, and the gang took care of everything else.

He was currently filling up at a gas station on the outskirts of the city.

He breathed in deeply. He loved the smell of gasoline. He didn't do it to get high, he just liked the smell. It was comforting. He didn't know why, never had. But it had always been that way. Since he was a kid. He always wound down the window, poked his head out of the car and breathed in that delicious petroleum air. Of course, since gasoline was hurriedly losing it's lead content and cars where coming off the production line equipped with plastic stoppers over the fuel port, that wonderful smell was becoming harder and harder to find.

That's why he loved his ride. An old-school Harley. Deep blue, with a little design of happiness on the gas tank. His sister had been ecstatic when she'd first seen his ride. She'd clapped her hands and laughed delightedly. She had down-syndrome but she appreciated the clean lines, and thunderous roar. One look at the color and she'd been pronouncing that Dougie was riding a Bluebird. She'd sung 'Zip-a-dee-do-dah' for weeks afterwards.

One day he'd come home from working the late shift at the local bowling alley to learn that she'd been killed in a road accident caused by one of the local gangs. He quit his job and joined the opposing gang the day after the funeral. He bought the Bluebird design after being initiated into the gang. The guys didn't make fun of his choice. His ride was a daily reminder, 'Never forget what they did to your sister'. He was still waiting for the chance to avenge her.

He was scoping the convenience aisles for anything slightly nutritious when another bike rolled into the bay. It was dark, and boring. The rider didn't even take off his helmet. It had a couple of scratches. Doug wasn't sure why his brain was so focused on the man. But you never knew what information might be worth to someone. He was paying for his Granola Bar and chocolate milk when the other rider came through the store. Doug felt an eerie sensation fall over him. It felt exactly the same as that night at Smokey's. Wasn't Smokey looking for a guy like this?

Doug settled onto Bluebird and fiddled around a bit, he got a shot of the man with his phone's camera and quickly left the station. He drove down the street, pulled over and quickly turned his jacket inside-out. He wasn't wearing his leather jacket today. It had been too hot, and he'd had a doctor's appointment. He knew from past experience that that kind of thing went much more easily if the rest of the cliental didn't know you were a biker. People were pretty prejudiced these days.

Now he was just another rider in a checked jacket out for a blissful night time ride. He messaged Lucas (Smokey didn't have a phone).

THINK I FOUND CREEPER. WILL FOLLOW HIM.

He attached the photo he'd just taken and sent the message off.

He just managed to put his gloves back on when 'maybe-Creeper' rode past. He was good at following, mainly because he was so innocuous. People didn't take any notice of him. And 'maybe-Creeper' turned out to be exactly like other people.

They traveled for a while, away from the city. Doug realized he'd have to drop back soon. He saw a small rise in the land, and pulled off quickly. He stopped Bluebird, kicked the stand and scuffled his way up the rise. It was dark, and there weren't many lights, or houses. He could make out a blurry, indistinct shadow in the distance. It looked like a warehouse or something. He watched the lone light turn toward the building.

Doug checked his phone. There was a reply message from Smokey. He wanted to know where he had first seen Creeper. Doug told him which station he had been at and took a couple of snaps of the warehouse, along with the road sign detailing how far away he was from the city, then he sent them back to Lucas.

**Oohh, everything's coming together...sort of ;)**

**Arc  
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	32. Chapter 32

About the time that Doug started following the rider known as Creeper, Reid and Rossi were arriving at Ambassador Prentiss' home. At about the time that Elizabeth Prentiss handed over the files she had had erased from Emily's permanent files, Smokey was calling in the most trustworthy of his contacts and comrades. Around the time that Smokey's people started arriving outside his bar, Garcia's Wi-fi Trojan hack into Lucas' phone started sending her copies of all his recent messages. So by the time Doug had made it to Creeper's lair, sent back the information regarding _where_ he had first seen Creeper and the information pertaining to where he was right now, Garcia was still sifting through all of Lucas' previous messages and Reid, Rossi and Morgan were going through the hardcopies provided by Ambassador Prentiss. And by the time Garcia got to the messages regarding Doug at the warehouse, Tommy-Joel Parker (aka; Creeper, The [new] Observer, The [old] Exponent, T.J.) had been with Emily, Hotch and Christopher for about an hour.

For most of that first hour Emily had been unconscious. So The Observer had been terrorizing The Exponent and Hotch. He'd descended from the ceiling, lowering a ladder down into the small room occupied by Christopher, Hotch and the unconscious Emily. He had taken one look at the sleeping Emily, sprawled but still bound on Hotch's lap and ordered the boy into one corner. He'd cut her ropes with a small, sharp dagger scaring Christopher. Hotch watched him with hard eyes. But there was nothing he could do. The Observer had then lifted Emily up and painstakingly carried her up the ladder and out of them room. Hotch was a fraction short of terrified, being separated at this point was the worst possible thing that could have happened. Emily had not finished explaining what was going on.

The Observer left without The Exponent. He hadn't come back. He hadn't communicated or made any signs that he intended to sometime in the future. It was one of the hardest things Hotch had had to deal with. The Observer had Emily, somewhere else and doing god knows what to her. He wasn't even sure when she would wake up. _If_ she would wake up. So to distract himself from positing a million worst-case scenarios he concentrated on loosening his ropes and freeing his hands.

Christopher wanted to help Hotchner. But if he got too close he was sure that The Observer would punish him. He had to be careful. Now that The Observer had returned he had to be even more vigilant, he could not let it show that he was on their side.

"Guys…you need to listen to this." Reid remarked. He had been the first to start reading through the paperwork that had 'mysteriously' disappeared from Emily's files. On the drive back from Emily's mother's house, he had started skimming through the reams of paper. Rossi had driven. It was a mutual decision. This way they had at least a little bit of a head start before they got back to Quantico.

The only team member missing was JJ, they were in agreement that she needed the time away.

"What is it Reid?" asked Morgan.

"The college student was Emily."

"We knew that Reid." Morgan replied.

"Well, yes I know we thought that, but this proves it." He was a little flustered now. He kind of had had a speech ready, and Morgan (as always) had interrupted him.

"Keep going." Rossi said.

"Anyway…so, Bordeaux said that the girl escaped from where they were being held but had to leave the unconscious boy there."

"That would be T.J. Parker right?" Garcia asked, making sure Bordeaux wasn't a criminal mastermind trying to divert their attention by introducing a red herring to the story.

"Correct. The couple were dead and in the morgue awaiting autopsy by this time." Garcia winced, why did he always had to say autopsy, it was such a nice sounding word with a really ugly connotation.

"The original Observer's name was James Russell, he was executed approximately five years ago." Reid frowned. Apparently he'd underestimated Emily's capacity for understanding him.

"What?" Morgan asked, when the silence seemed to drag on for too long.

"Apparently…Emily's role in the ritual was to cast judgment on the couple. When she refused, The Observer drugged her."

"With what?"

"Ah…Ketamine…PCP. There were traces of other chemicals in her system that indicated he messed around with a bunch of other drugs too…"

"Damn." Morgan exclaimed.

"She was...ah…what's the word Garcia?" Reid asked.

"Flying?"

"Yeah…that's how the cops found her. They suspected she wasn't an addict though. She had popped out near where James Russell was attempting to dump the bodies. She also had marks on her ankles and wrists from the restraints. Plus she used her mother's diplomatic connections to get the Police to take her seriously and go look for T.J."

"So this T.J. guy owes her his life. Why would he abduct her too?" Rossi posited.

"He was drugged as well, in an attempt to get Emily to make a decision." Reid answered, "Only he gave him too much Ketamine. He wasn't unconscious like Emily thought when she left him…"

"He was stuck in a K-hole," Morgan answered.

"He might of thought she was abandoning him." Reid replied.

"Is the building he kept them in still a valid place to hide people?" Rossi asked Garcia.

A few seconds later Garcia answered, "No, it's an apartment complex. Too many people going in and out to safely drag two or three people into it. Plus, it's not even in this area. I doubt Helmet-man would want to go cross-country with Hotch in the back of his van."

"Perhaps Garcia, you should do a search on James Russell." Bordeaux posited when it looked like no one else had anything to say.

"Why? Isn't he dead? It's a pretty common name…"

"Since we haven't found any recent activity regarding T.J. maybe he's taken on The Observer's name." Bordeaux explained.

"Good idea." Morgan stated, why hadn't he thought of that…_too little sleep?_

Suddenly, Garcia's computer started throwing up blurry pictures onto the screen.

"What's this?" Rossi asked.

"It looks like our old friend Smokey Tom has found something." She answered.

"You've met Smokey Tom?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"Eh…" She really didn't want to answer that question just yet, "Save Emily and Hotch…questions later" she added a silent 'maybe'.

"Looks like ol' Tom's feelers hit the jackpot Reid." Garcia missed the surprised and somewhat approving looks sent Reid's way. "Someone named Doug saw Mr. Parker and followed him out to a warehouse in the sticks. Smokey and his band of criminally available followers are on their way out there now…"

"Garcia…" Rossi said in a dangerous tone, "how are they sure it's him. We can't have them going off half-cocked into the night, doing who knows what to a completely unrelated person."

Good to know he's happy for them to do just that to the 'completely related' person, she thought.

"This Doug guy, saw him at a gas station. I've triangulated which one from the towers, and am getting into the security system…right…now."

Silence descended again…would their team ever converse in proper conversations again? Would anything be normal without Emily and Hotch? She'd never forgive them if they weren't alright. They had better be okay.

"It's him alright."

**Well, there you go explanations galore! Well maybe not _galore_, but still...explanations.**

**And, hopefully some of you are starting to get an idea of what's been going on. **

**If not, well...I'm still mighty EVIl then aren't I? Mwah har har!!!**

**You gotta love me.**

**Arc  
**


	33. Chapter 33

**Hmmm, I wonder what evilness I can bring to the floor today???**

Emily woke up attached to a chair. That wasn't how she left the conscious world and it certainly wasn't a way she had wanted to re-enter it. She tried to control herself and her fear. She knew who The Observer was…she couldn't believe after all this time he had turned into this! It made no sense.

The Observer was behind her, so that she wouldn't know he was here. He wanted to see her reaction to the homage he was paying The First Observer. Would she approve? Or would she be horrified? He wished that he had spent more of his youth keeping in touch with her. She had tried of course, Emily Prentiss was nothing if not compassionate. She had sent letters, called him on occasion, tried to see him. He was sure she made a few 'holidays' to Paris in an attempt to run into him in the early days. But he wanted nothing to do with her then. He hadn't understood that she was the one who had experienced everything he had. She was the only one who would ever truly have an inkling as to what he had suffered, what he had gone through.

At that time he had hated everyone and everything associated with The Observer. It was only years later that he had been taught the significance of what Emily had done in that room. He had never seen anything like it.

For a moment he let himself be Tommy-Joel Parker again. Looking around the room, he was scared to see how much it reminded him of that first time. That first moment of consciousness when he had opened his eyes and seen a dark, cold room. Wooden chairs, and a girl tied to another chair that had been placed next to him. He remembered the never-ending learning, the mysterious, sacred leather bound book, and the time. An endless time of The Observer teaching them. The girl had always been Emily. Although it wasn't until after The Observer killed the couple that he learned that that was her name. Up until then she had always been The Decider, and he had been The Exponent. The Observer had always seemed more interested in him in the beginning. Teaching him and questioning him, making sure that he knew and understood every possible aspect of his duty. He had not paid much attention to The Decider.

In the beginning T.J. had valued his importance, and loved the idea that he was the better one, that he was the more important one. He had believed that The Decider was not as important as The Exponent. He had thought that Emily wasn't as important as himself. It was only later on that T.J. realized what The Observer's purpose was. The Observer had sucked him into his game by flattering him. The Decider was always the most important aspect of The Manual, of the ritual. Why had he missed that? Now, looking back, he could see it clearly. Emily had always been more important than him. Someone always was. T.J. supposed it was because of his age though. He had been young, and unknowledgable. It wasn't completely his fault then, he decided, it was hers.

Emily tensed. Someone else was in the room. She was certain. She was too weak to look around, her neck was having a hard time keeping her head up, and she was tired…so very tired. She closed her eyes and swallowed. Where was she and where was Hotch? And the boy, where was he?

Okay, first things first. I can't know at the moment where Hotch and The Exponent are, so what can I know? I'm in a room, tied to a chair. She tested the restraints on her wrists…leather, old. They were soft and seemed worn. She tried to keep the tears from forming. She knew where she was. She dreamt of this place often. But this wasn't a dream, there were differences. First of all, the floor wasn't cold, damp and moldy. It was carpeted, not well, not soft and lush, but it was carpet, industrial she decided. Hard duty. Was she in an office? She looked hard in front of her for wall sockets, electrical lines, telephone ports…none that she could see. But there wasn't much light. No windows either. But for all she knew there was no back wall…she couldn't see behind herself. The chair itself was different from what she remembered. The first one had been hard, wooden, creaky. This one was newer, it had padding in it. Someone was thinking about comfort when they bought this, not simply practicality. She wondered where _he_ was.

There were televisions she noticed. She was really out of it. It had taken her at least five minutes to realize what they were. Normally, when she was in full profiler mode she would have known every intimate corner of this room, on first glance. Now though, she was certain there were tonnes of things she was missing. Not only because of the dark, but because of her shivers, and the lack of a proper bed, and the lack of food, and the absolute terror she had been living under for about three weeks now, if she could trust her understanding of the passage of time. She wanted Hotch back.

"I don't know what's going on Mr. Hotchner." Christopher said.

"Just, call me Hotch."

"Hotch. I don't understand." He looked carefully toward the ceiling again. He hoped The Observer was busy with Emily and not watching them.

"I don't understand much of what's going on either."

"You're not supposed to, I am." He replied.

Hotch frowned at the boy, causing him to explain.

"I'm The Exponent. It's my job to explain to you and Emily, why you're here. There's this book too, and it tells me exactly what's supposed to happen and what I'm supposed to do. But The Observer isn't supposed to take Emily out of here. At least not until I've explained. And even then…" Christopher was entirely confused. Nothing made any sense. Nothing was going according to plan.

"Why don't you explain to me why I'm here." Hotch suggested. He might as well try to understand what was supposed to have happened, before everything went from the first circle of hell to the fifth.

"Well…"

Hotch noted he seemed reluctant. "You should still do your…duty, right?"

Christopher drew in a deep breath. Hotchner was right. It was his duty as The Exponent to clarify _why_ Emily and Hotch had been brought into this. And even if The Observer was changing all the rules, that didn't mean that he should allow him the hold the reigns when The Manual was abundantly clear about the process that was supposed to take place.

"The Observer, after much deliberation and observation has come to the conclusion that someone in your relationship has been unfaithful." Christopher began. He had spent many of these longs hours, being abducted, reflecting and planning what he should say to the couple. It was harder to express his thoughts than he had assumed.

Hotch couldn't help the incredulous look that overcame him. Fortunately, The Exponent was clearly thinking hard and not interested in him.

"He brought you here so that he could test your resolve, and see how well you two as a couple could overcome hardships placed in your path. He was impressed with your performance during the testing phase." Hotch was pretty sure that meant when he was being tortured with the cattle prod, he said nothing.

"At this point in the adjudication, I am required to deliberate on the pro's and con's of keeping you two as a couple together. I am also given the responsibility of finding out if one of you have been unfaithful, especially considering The Observer was unsuccessful with his methods. I am led to understand that in the past, his methods have proven successful."

Yes, thought Hotch. But that was back whenever Emily was involved with this debacle. What had she said? Fifteen years ago? She would have been in college. Hotch would have smacked himself in the head if his hands had been free. She had been trying to tell him something important, and he had missed it. Idiot!

**Yeah, well I figured it was time Hotch got his come-upance for being so mean to Emily in Sex, Birth, Death...as you might be able to guess I'm still _not quite_ over his meanness. And of course by come-upance I mean, he finally calls himself an idiot...which he was.**

**Arc**

**P.S. If you can't tell I've been watching CM eps. That one was on my mind... :)  
**


	34. Chapter 34

Doug was frozen. He was somewhere out in the wilderness of nowhere, the calm, warmish lights of the city twinkling seductively behind him. And he couldn't even watch them. No, he had to be facing the opposite direction. He was on look out, for Creeper. Smokey and his boys would arrive sometime soon. But he didn't know exactly when. He supposed he'd hear the thrum of their engines before he ever saw them. He idly wondered just how many of them would be repaying their debt to Smokey tonight.

There was no cloud cover…so it was freezing. He was still in his jeans and checked jacket. He wished he had his leathers with him today. But you can't have everything you wish for…He took out his phone and checked it for any new messages. He'd gotten one back from Smokey Tom via Lucas, informing him that they were on their way.

But nothing much was happening out here. Creeper had entered the building and had never come out. He didn't want to know what was going on in there. But everyone owed Smokey Tom something, and Smokey had been good to him. He probably would have helped out even if he didn't own Smokey something. Everyone would probably help out Smokey. He was the like the grandfather of the family.

Smokey was on his motorcycle chasing down the miles toward Creeper's building. He had a bevy of friends following him. Their rides and leathers creating a stream of dark, loud vehicles covering up the road and stretching out into the terrain lying outside the city. He consciously made his body relax. It was bad to be too wired going into a fight. Sure, adrenaline helped sometimes, but to think clearly and to assess damage control and whether you're fight was going to be successful or what you needed to do to make it successful, well it was necessary for someone of the gang to be calm, collected and competent. He gave a look behind him. He had quite a following. Creeper wouldn't know what hit him. But first priority was locating Shadow. After they got her and he knew she was safe. Then the guys could have their way with him, as long as she wasn't hurt too badly. If she was hurt bad, he wanted Creeper all to himself. Some things you just had to take care of properly. Some things you just had to do yourself.

Morgan was driving Reid and Bordeaux out toward T.J.'s warehouse, they were unknowingly following the exact route Smokey Tom had taken fifteen minutes earlier. Rossi and Garcia were in the second car, it had taken them slightly longer to get out of the parking lot. Garcia was lugging her laptop behind her while screeching at Lynch through her phone. Rossi was glad he wasn't Kevin at that moment. Garcia was certainly Medusa-like when she was angry. He made a mental note to remember to never piss her off in the future.

JJ was hanging up the phone. Reid had called and let her know what was going on. She wasn't going to be left behind this time. No matter what. If Garcia was going to the warehouse, then she was going too. Last time, she had been pregnant and it was common sense not to go. But that meant she'd had to wait an inordinately long time to 'know' that Emily was okay. And this time, it wasn't only Emily in trouble. It was Hotch too. She had to go, she needed to be a part of their rescue. She'd hung up the phone, determined, and slowly turned to see Will standing behind her feeding Henry.

"Go." He'd said.

She'd winced then, was she that transparent?

"We'll be fine darlin'. Emily's family. You go get her, bring her back." JJ had smiled then. She knew she was with Will for a reason, other than him being the father of her beautiful child.

She had sprinted from the house, jumped in her car and taken off.

She was only ten minutes behind Rossi and Garcia.

Will was watching JJ leave from the lounge room window. The past three weeks had been hell for him too. JJ didn't know this and Will wasn't sure if he'd ever tell her, but he'd been worried about their long distance relationship in the beginning. He knew Emily from the New Orleans case, that she was one of JJ's best friends. He'd called her. Before he'd even started dating JJ. He had needed to know whether it was the right thing to do, getting involved with someone who was so devoted to her job. Could they make it work? Will wanted everything. The house, the wife, the babies, the white picket fence. Okay, so the color of the fence didn't really matter, but he really wanted the whole enchilada. Emily was the one who had talked him into living for the moment. She had told him not to worry so much about the future. If he fell for JJ, which he thought was a distinct possibility, then everything would work itself out. And when everything was working itself out, and Henry was growing inside JJ's womb, it was Emily he'd called for assistance.

Should he make the attempt? Should he come out to Virginia? Leave Louisiana?

Emily had answered, "Do you want to be with JJ?"

Of course he did. "There's your answer."

Emily had made everything seem so straight forward. So easy. And he'd realized, everything was easy with JJ. Even when she was fighting him, and pretending she didn't care for him. It was still easy, he understood JJ, even when she as frustrating as hell.

So he knew she had to leave, to be there for Emily and Hotch. One of them needed to stay with Henry, and he couldn't expect her to, not under these circumstances. If it was his team, members of his team that had been abducted, Will knew JJ would stay at home and make things easy for him. That's what he was doing for her, because he loved her.

Ambassador Prentiss was pacing her hallways. When had everything fallen apart? When had it become necessary for to spy on her own daughter so that she would know what was going on in her life? When had she allowed herself to become this person?

Kevin Lynch was frightened. He was currently checking his bank accounts, and car and apartment leases. He was making sure his name hadn't suddenly appeared on the CIA's most wanted list, or the FBI's or NCIS's, or suddenly find himself placed in the AFIS database, or anywhere else that Garcia might have decided to blacklist him. He checked the status of his passport and visa…nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But Garcia was a master hacker. If she wanted, she could make him legally dead, take all his holdings and make him a ghost. He hoped he hadn't made her that angry. But he had messed with her family. He gulped. He knew when he accepted that job with Ambassador Prentiss that everything was going to go wrong one day.

Hotch was worried. He could hear yelling. But he'd never been able to hear anything outside of this room before. What was going on?

Christopher was scared. Hotch had heard the voice too. It was The Observer, he was sure. But this room was moderately sound proofed, like Emily's old one was. They shouldn't be able to hear whatever might be going on outside. The Observer must be really angry.

Emily was trying not to flinch. T.J. was standing in front of her. Yelling in her face. He was so angry, he was spitting.

It was all her fault! And he wasn't the unimportant one. He was THE important one. He would show her, and her stupid boyfriend. She had taken his life. He was the one that deserved to be successful and competent. He deserved the life she had. She had stolen it from him. But she wouldn't get away with it any longer. She had cheated him for long enough.

**I thought it was about time we checked in with everyone...see how everything is progressing.**

**Arc  
**


	35. Chapter 35

Emily was staring at him in disbelief!

He thought she had stolen the life he deserved. How was that even possible?

She couldn't help it. She shook her head.

She was, he realized, she was saying 'no' to him. How dare she! He knew the truth. If she hadn't tricked The Observer in the beginning, then The Observer would have believed him and listened to him. He had done his job well, in fact in had done it perfectly. He had gotten both parties to admit to infidelity. Wasn't that what The Manual said he was supposed to do? Get to the truth and reveal it. Then it was The Decider's job to decide. And she refused. Why had he pandered to her? It was so obvious. She wasn't remaining impartial!

"You did! Don't deny it!" he screamed in her face. She was being so passive. He hated it. She was exactly like he remembered her. Outright refusing to obey The Observer. This was how he must have felt. Enraged. Righteous. Pure. It was her duty to decide and she was refusing to accept her responsibility. He lashed out at her, kicking the chair.

She skidded unsteadily. The chair rocking dangerously as it slid backwards. Huh, she thought. It is bolted down like the last time. How many other things were different from last time?

Hotch worked frantically to untie himself. His body was still bound but he had finally managed to get his hands and wrists free. Now he just needed to perform some contortions and limb acrobatics and he should be out of the bondage in no time. It would help if The Exponent were doing something more than sulking in the corner. But Hotch reminded himself, he was only young. Maybe fourteen? And he had been abused all his life, and kept hostage by an unstable man for three weeks, he'd give him a little leeway in the sanity department. He cringed as he heard wood splinter from above.

Christopher reacted when he heard the sound of wood breaking. His eyes widened. You never hit a woman. Never. His father and mother had taught him that from an early age. A woman could hit you and you had to sit there a take it, she was probably right to do so, but a man could never hit a woman. It was wrong. If The Observer was hurting Emily, then he flat out did not deserve his alliance. He had to make his choice now, act on it and deal with the consequences. It was time to choose sides. Which one was he going to be on?

There were about thirty men milling about on the shoulder of the road near the rise where Doug was currently splayed out. And there were about thirty-one motorcycles parked with their owners standing beside them or their owners still perched on top of them. Soon there were about four of the crowd lying on the small rise. They were looking over toward the warehouse. Doug, Smokey, Lucas and some other commanding guy were in charge of this particular section of the endeavor. They didn't have fancy binoculars, rifle scopes, or anything like that. Just normal human eyes piercing the darkness. Their focus targeted on the silent, menacing warehouse. Creeper would not be getting out of this one. But they needed a plan. It was bad form to jut go rushing into a building with no idea of what else might be going on in there.

Smokey got up, dusted the dirt off his pants and led the way back to the crowd.

"We need to surround that place. We'll ride on down, then coast til we're inside the main area." He looked around, everybody was nodding. Everyone knew who was the boss in this operation. "Then we'll split up, you ten go round the right side of the building and cover that side, including some of the back. You ten," he said, waving his hand at the next group of men lingering about, "will take the left side of the building. Meet up with the first group at the back." The twenty men nodded.

"What about us?" A voice from the remaining group of about six men asked.

"You guys are going to cover the front with me." Smokey nodded. It was as good a plan as any. Cover the building so Creeper couldn't get out. Either wait for him to come out, or if they heard anything bad going down, bust in and stop him. Straight forward, simple, perhaps there would be a mess, but nobody would be in any confusion over what the plan was, or timing or synchronization. Follow Smokey's lead. That's it. That was the plan.

"Doug?" Smokey asked.

"Still in there. Unless there's a way out the back and he's currently running off into nowhere." Doug had realized that was a possibility while he was waiting for Smokey to arrive.

"Doubtful." Smokey answered, "If he's abducted Shadow, he'll want a big enough space and a lot of time, to be with her."

All of the faces darkened as he said that. There were rules about how you were with your family. And rules about how you dealt with people who associated with your family. If they damaged your family, you damaged them. If they helped your family, you helped them. Simple, clear, easy, _Quid Pro Quo,_ Hannibal Lector and all that.

They made their way to the warehouse.

Morgan had been driving quietly but quickly along the road. Garcia's directions were perfect, not that he expected them to be otherwise. He wondered if she was still wailing on Lynch. He definitely deserved it. Reid was in the passenger seat and Bordeaux was in the back. Morgan glanced in the rear-view mirror and smirked to see that the psychiatrist already had his flak-jacket on. Did he really think Morgan was going to actually let him raid the UnSub's lair? Bordeaux was going to be on the outside, a mere few centimeters in front of Garcia, keeping his baby girl far, far away from any gunfire.

Garcia didn't know Rossi was such a fiend driving a car. Had she ever driven with him before? A headlight shined on her face. There was no oncoming traffic. She realized it was from behind her, reflecting off the mirror Rossi wasn't using. Turning around she noticed another large car racing up the road behind them.

"Who's that?" She asked without thinking.

"I don't know," Rossi answered, "But they sure are tearing up the road."

JJ started to slow down the car. She had definitely surpassed more than her fair share of speed limits getting here so quickly. She assumed the car in front was one of her team's. Abruptly she moved her hand to her waist, had she strapped on her gun when she left the house? There was nothing there…damn, she hadn't! Screw it, she thought. It didn't matter if she wasn't armed, she was going to be there when they found Emily and Hotch, even if she was standing on the sidelines waving down the ambulance...Did she even have her badge on her? She quickly looked toward the passenger seat. There lying inconspicuously was her badge, wallet, a couple of health food bars and her sidearm.

"I love you Will!" She exclaimed, a grin gracing her face. She sped the car up a little more, now she was practically tailgating the car in front.

**We'll get there eventually!**

**Promise...**

**Arc  
**


	36. Chapter 36

**Nobody fret...everything is going completely as planned...**

**The only question now is...who's doing the planning??? ;)  
**

It was only Morgan's supreme collectedness that prevented him from swerving the car when a mob of motorcycles entered the road from off the side. He hadn't even seen them. They must have been standing with their lights off.

"How many Reid?" he asked quickly, he couldn't attempt to count them and drive at the same time.

"Roughly, thirty. I can't be accurate with all this movement. Perhaps if it were daylight…" Reid was concerned, gangs didn't usually go out in this big of a number except for wars or funerals.

"Could this be Smokey Tom?" Bordeaux asked from the back.

"I didn't realized he would have this many people on call." Reid answered.

"Apparently there's a lot we don't know about Smokey Tom, including how many people owe him favors." Morgan replied. He wanted to overtake them, but considered that too dangerous. He'd just have to settle for following them.

Christopher had made his choice. He was going to help Emily and Hotch. It was the right thing to do. He didn't believe either one of them would have cheated in their relationship, and at this point, did it really matter? Besides, who was he to make those kinds of decisions or judgments about some one else's life. He quickly stood and darted over to where Hotch was trying to get out of his restraints.

"Here, let me help."

Hotch looked up in surprise, he had been so focused on getting out of the ropes that he hadn't even noticed The Exponent move. Just how exhausted was he? The Exponent was pulling at his ropes, trying to see where the knots began or ended.

"Thanks." They both worked together now.

Emily was now on the floor. At some point during T.J.'s yelling he had gotten so enraged that he had pushed the chair over, with her still attached. She was still strapped in, so she was stuck in the chair, leaning over uncomfortably. The heavy carpet pressing into her rope burns creating more pain with every slight movement. She was sure she must have a few carpet burns too. Pretty.

She was trying to surreptitiously get her head closer to her right hand's leather strap. If she could undo the buckle with her teeth, she would be able to free herself from the other restraints. But she had to do it without T.J. realizing. That was the tricky part. He was so unpredictable in his movements. He would rant and rave one second and in the next he would be quiet and watchful. At times he reminded her of The First Observer. But _he_ had never been this out-of-control. He had prided himself on his detachment. The only time he had ever gotten angry was when she had blatantly refused to make a proclamation. That was when he had brought in the drugs. The drugging had been the most terrifying part of the whole abduction. The lack of control. The world had shifted, played games with her mind. She couldn't decipher what was real and what wasn't. The only thing she could hold onto was the idea that she should not under any circumstances make any decisions.

At one point, The Observer had drugged her and positioned her in front of the monitors, at least…that's what she had decided he must have done. She was forced to watch Roberto Manassas being tortured again, in front of his wife, and she'd been given Ketamine. At least, from what she understood of it's effects later on, she assumed it was Ketamine. The world had gone loopy, she had thought she was seeing alternate realities. She had believed she could see the electricity from the cattle prod leaking out into the air. That it had reached out and touched her too. She had thought it was beautiful. The Observer was always careful with the dosage her gave her. He never wanted her to not be able to converse. Every so often he would stop the torture and come back up, telling her she could stop all this, all she needed to do was make a decision. But she knew that was the one thing she absolutely must not do. It was the only thing keeping her going. Do Not Make Any Decisions. Even when he had drugged The Exponent she had still kept to her mantra. By that time though, Emily wasn't even sure that she was truly cognizant. She was on auto-pilot by then. Nothing mattered except her resolve. Decisions were bad. That's all she knew.

The Observer was quiet again. He felt powerful knowing she was so scared of him. She should be. They all should be. He opened his special box. He wasn't sure he wanted to do this. But she was always more truthful when drugged. He remembered when The First Observer had been trying to get her to obey, that he had threatened to kill him, to the kill The First Exponent. T.J. had known The Observer wouldn't go through with it, he was too important. At least, he had thought he was. She had said she didn't care. He had been astonished when the words had fallen from her lips. She didn't care if he died. The Observer had smiled grimly, 'very well' he said. Usually when he drugged The Decider he used a small amount. But that time, he had come at T.J. with a lot of liquid. He'd tried to struggle, he didn't know what the drug would do to him, but he'd seen the wackiness that The Decider went through. He didn't want that. But The Observer had injected him anyway. He'd gone immobile almost immediately…Emily had screamed. She must have thought he was dead. He remembered The Observer say, 'Now what is your answer'. And still The Decider refused. Even with him being dead, she refused.

That was when The Observer had taken his unmoving body down into the couple's room. They too had screamed in shock. They thought he was dead too. He taunted and severely beat the couple. And still, The Decider refused. She has no heart. That was what he had thought. That was the last straw for The Observer T.J. realized. When it appeared that The Exponent was dead, and ceaseless pain, and never-ending 'trips' couldn't break The Decider, The Observer knew it was finished. That he wouldn't ever get the answers he wanted.

He had killed the couple.

He had killed that couple in the small, cold room with The Exponent lying on the floor, eyes wide open watching everything. He couldn't move, couldn't even close his eyes. He'd watched, and listened, and heard every last breath, movement, moment of Dia and Roberto. He couldn't believe The Decider had let this happen. All she had to do was decide. How hard was it to do that?

After The Observer had killed them, he had dragged The Decider down into the room. He told them he would be back, but he needed to discard of the bodies first. He'd carelessly hoisted the woman and the man up the ladder, leaving T.J. and Emily in the room, dark, cold, filled with blood. The coppery tang saturating the air. Emily had stayed in the corner, not moving. She was probably still tripping. After a short while, The Observer came back. He had pulled Emily over to T.J. putting her hand against his throat he had said, "See? Still alive."

T.J. thought he remembered her crying, they were probably fake. She didn't care about him. That much was obvious.

Then The Observer had pushed her back against the wall, so that she was sitting up properly. He had fixed her hair, shifting it off her face. He had cupped her jaw, looked her straight in the eye and said, "You were always her favorite. I should have known."

Then he had left, and never returned.

**Mwah har har!!! Too evil...I'm so happy with myself at the moment...making you all hate me with a passion...knowing you have to stroke my ego so that you can continue in this story...I'd make such a good ransomer...you'd all pay me the money**, **don't even try to deny it.**

**Have fun with reviewing me (hint, nudge, wink)**

**Arc  
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	37. Chapter 37

**My mojo came back....FINALLY.**

**If you haven't noticed, my postings have been lagging, 'cause my muse ran away to lay with the pixies over in Sierra's world...but they're back now! I'm so happy...  
**

It looked like some strange convoy to anyone that was lucky, or unlucky, enough to be in the area that housed the warehouse. Thirty-one members of various motorcycle gangs, three government issue SUV's, and lots of weapons, converging on an out of the way, defunct storage facility. It was an interesting sight to say the least.

Unfortunately, what Doug's messages to Smokey hadn't conveyed was the extensive security lining the outskirts of the warehouse's property. From her protected vantage point of the second SUV Garcia could already tell that the security cameras had been rigged. There was no way there'd be any data to prove that T.J. was here, or Emily and Hotch for that matter. The fences and barbed wire were high, too high to jump. The only entrance was also the only exit. It was barb-wired, chunky and triple-padlocked. Whoever ran this place had definite security neuroses. But considering it was probably T.J. running this place, Garcia figured he was right to be worried. She knew Morgan would be attempting to gauge his success at scaling the fence. The third SUV, the one that had been impolitely tailgating her and Rossi down the road, had parked next to her. She wasn't sure but she thought it seemed familiar. That was about the moment that the window closest to their car slid down. JJ waved from the inside.

"Make sure she stays there." Rossi said as he hopped out of the car. Garcia nodded, close to forty-odd men and two women…this could end badly.

Smokey had known there were three cars following them out to the warehouse. He had hoped it would be Shadow's family. She needed their support. As much as he had accepted Shadow, she didn't know that yet, and he had no idea what condition she would be in when they finally got to her. He just hoped her family would find him first. If they tried to assert their authority here, without his okaying it…bad things would happen. This was his turf at the moment, and they were merely trespassing. He would make them his visitors, his vassals, but they needed to come to him directly. They had to show their allegiance was to him and Shadow otherwise there was absolutely nothing he could about it. The men he had gathered did not take kindly to Police, and even less if they appeared to affront Smokey. Especially since this was his exploit.

Rossi and Morgan traversed through the crowd to Smokey. They understood this pack dynamic. They needed the okay from the alpha dog. Rossi motioned for Morgan to get behind him. Morgan's temper might get the best of him, especially considering what had just happened with Kevin Lynch and Ambassador Prentiss. Dave was actually quite impressed Morgan hadn't punched a fist through a wall yet. They had left Reid and Bordeaux stationed by the cars. No one was going to take Reid seriously yet, not when Morgan and Rossi had dibs on the intimidation walks. Reid couldn't walk with intimidation if you paid him, and sometimes that's exactly what the FBI expected. Thank goodness the team had learned by now to keep Reid out of the picture if that's what was needed. They finally, after much 'polite' pushing and manoeuvring found Smokey Tom.

"Smokey." Rossi stated by way of greeting.

"Grumpy, Shaft." He nodded at them both, a mysterious twinkle in his eye. He knew full well his nicknames for them were not appreciated. No matter how 1970's cool it might have been.

"She's family man." Derek said. It was all it took. The surrounding men recognized immediately that these weren't just cops. These were her 'gang'. Her tight knit group of people that had her back no matter what. They couldn't deny them this right. Not now.

Smokey Tom smiled at the ease Shaft had made the men nearest him understand their situation.

"I've got about twenty men who are prepared to cover the sides and back of the building. Doug reckons it's this one." He pointed at the main warehouse. "He's been watching Creeper since first sighting."

Shaft and Grumpy nodded. They didn't seem to see anything wrong with following his plan…for the time being. He knew when they eventually got closer to getting Shadow and Severe out of there, all the rules would change. Smokey just hoped they understood that it couldn't look like they were in charge until that happened.

"We'd like to be round the front…" Grumpy began, "we've got some women with us."

Smokey moved so he could see back to their cars, he only saw Boy Wonder and a new man. Women?

"They're still in the cars." Grumpy answered the unspoken question.

Smokey nodded again, "As long as they don't expect to be a part of the take-down. It should be fine. My boys will steer clear."

"No…Mama and well…Momma aren't getting involved in this." Shaft answered.

There was no way his Baby Girl was getting anywhere near this building, neither was JJ. It was bad enough she had left Henry once again, Emily might never forgive him if she came out of that warehouse and saw that JJ had been inside.

Morgan looked around to see how ready these bikers were. He could see steel-tipped boots, chains, knuckle-dusters, meaty fists. Damn. These guys wouldn't even need the gut-load of guns and bats he'd seen piled up in the middle of the crowd on his and Dave's walk-through. These guys would beat you to a pulp with their broken and holey socks if necessary.

Smokey motioned for Doug and Lucas to follow them out to the cop-cars. They dutifully obeyed.

As soon as they were a five feet radius from the cars Garcia and JJ hopped out and joined Bordeaux and Reid. There was no way they were being left out of this information session.

"We all know who's in charge here." Smokey said. Lucas nodded wisely, until Smokey surprised him by turning to Rossi.

"First things first. We need to get past those padlocks. We'll do no good until we have free range inside."

"I can get through if we don't have bolt cutters." Boy Wonder said. He looked toward Smokey. Shaking his head, Tom sighed, that was practically the only thing they hadn't thought to bring. Strange.

Reid immediately began using his Las Vegas street tricks to open the padlocks. They were relatively simple. Relatively because for Reid, a lot of things that had been deemed complex for other people were when compared to him - effortless, and simple because for Reid, he could open these padlocks in his sleep. But he decided it would be more productive to open these particular padlocks whilst being awake. He also noted that he had practiced on this particular make of padlock last month. He had a lot of time on his hands to practice. One of the many perks of only needing to sleep for a maximum of six hours a day. He could survive on four indefinitely.

**Ok, so in actuality it was a small start...but still. I'm getting there!**

**And everyone's together now....finally.**

**Arc  
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	38. Chapter 38

**Onwards and upwards my finely feathered friends...(you're all officially birds now, in case you were wondering) - and yes, I am in a strange mood today ;)**

Smokey and Morgan were arguing profusely behind a covered mass. JJ shook her head. Men. Couldn't they ever do what was needed without digressing into alpha-male posturing. Really…

She rolled her eyes at Garcia and Reid. Reid didn't count as a male in this context, he had evolved past that kind of inane pretentiousness. Besides, she'd whack him over the head if he ever tried to act that way. No godparent of her child was going to behave like an overgrown hairless gorilla.

The covered mass hid the group from view. If T.J. came out of the warehouse he wouldn't be able to see them. At least, he wouldn't be able to see the small contingent of people that were currently inside the front of the gated warehouse. The other twenty-odd men were moving around the sides and back. They had instructions to wait. They were not allowed to enter the building under any circumstances. Smokey had made sure they all understood the consequence for disobeying that order. He had lifted his eyebrow and a few of the younger men had actually flinched. JJ idly wondered what that could mean before deciding she really didn't want to know. At least, not until Emily and Hotch were safe, and even then…maybe not.

Rossi was tired of this. Smokey and Morgan would never back down. Not when the rest of his boys had left and there was no power-play façade to keep in check. Now they had free reign and the two men were vying for dominance, and wasting precious time. Reid and Bordeaux' eyes were shifting back and forth with increasing intensity. He had to do something to stop this now.

He scrambled up the mass blocking them from view. He'd have to be up high to get their attention. They were getting angrier and angrier by the second, any minute now fists would be flying and all hope of saving Emily and Hotch would be lost. He finally stood atop the mass. It had at some point in the distant past been covered by a dark tarpaulin, it was slightly slippery. It must have rained, or the coldness of the night was causing the material to create condensation. He mentally shrugged, it wasn't important and he needed to act fast.

"Morgan, Smokey…stop it!" His gravelly voice carried well in the silence of the night. He didn't need to raise his voice much. Garcia, JJ, Reid and Bordeaux had been watching him climb, so they were already paying him attention. Morgan, Smokey, Lucas and Doug on the other hand had been focused on the argument, they were surprised to realize the voice was coming from above. Rossi half expected Doug or Lucas to answer with a questioning 'God?'

"We don't have time for this." He stared harder at Morgan than Smokey. Derek should know better than to devolve like this. Morgan looked down in compliance. Smokey nodded, he'd known it was pointless even though he'd been helpless to stop himself. Probably why in his youth, passionate anger had turned into crazed murder. He didn't have much experience in self control. Especially now that people deferred to him. It usually meant he got what he wanted when he wanted it without question. Their was always an upside to dangerous living.

"Sorry Dave." Morgan called up to him, "You can come down now." As he spoke, he tugged slightly on the tarp.

Garcia watched in horrified surprise as Rossi lost his balance on top of the unknown object. Thankfully, being a FBI Agent required extensive physical training and prowess. It was an extremely important aspect of being a certified field agent. Rossi soon recovered, but the tarpaulin had fallen down.

All of them stared at the strange sight.

Rossi was standing triumphantly on top of orange roller coaster car. It was old, and dusty. But definitely a small part of some larger roller coaster. It was one of those two-person carriage designs, and there weren't any others about.

"I don't believe it!" JJ exclaimed. The fortune cookie was real.

The team collectively shook off their surprise, they had way more important things to think about at the moment. Things that were other than cookie fortunes coming to fruition.

THIRTY MINUTES AGO

Christopher's hands were shaking. The sounds screeching from above were getting worse. He cringed and tried not to think about what those sounds meant. He'd become quite adept at ignoring the curious part of his brain. The result of many afternoons and weekends spent avoiding reality at home.

Hotch was having a terrible time. His joints and muscles ached incredibly. The burns from both rope and cattle prod itched and pulled at his skin. But he had more important things to think about, more important things to worry about. One of those things happened to be a woman with whom he was quite positively never going to think of as simply a subordinate again. He futilely looked up at the ceiling. Why did his brain think it was going to be able to see through the roof? It was one of those ingrained behaviors he decided. A futile gesture because he wanted to see her. To protect her, and he was angry at himself, he had let The Observer take her away from him.

We're not getting out of this, she realized.

The Observer – Tommy, he had no end game in play. She steeled herself, just managing to stop another shake of her head. It felt odd, the way all of her blood was rushing around her body. She was lying sideways, still strapped into the chair. Thankfully, she had managed to get on strap undone, she was currently trying to hide it from T.J. That was one thing she didn't need him noticing. She'd already seen him go off the deep end before, she didn't want a repeat performance. He'd obviously decided that The Observer was a 'good' person to style himself upon. He'd even gone so far as to copy The Manual…

There were things she didn't understand about his pathology though. He'd obviously taken on the role of The Observer, even though his original placement had been The Exponent. That meant he was hero-worshiping The Observer. And in some way was derisive of his previous role. But he hadn't taken out that fury or anger upon The New Exponent. That was strange. He'd gone out of his way to abduct the boy, a boy similar to himself as an adolescent. Her mouth quirked in a thoughtful gesture. He'd chosen someone similar to himself, albeit with a very different childhood. He obviously expected the boy to behave how he had. T.J. hadn't even chosen (code for abducted) someone to fulfill the role of The Decider. That was odd. That meant that some part of him wasn't in tune with The Manual. He was disregarding aspects of The Observer's ritual without any real damage to cohesion. She sighed quietly. This was truly peculiar. He followed some aspects of The Manual with an almost dogmatic concern but left others out in the cold without a second thought.

He was determined to have someone fill the role of The Exponent but didn't care about having The Decider filled.

Then there was The Counterparts. The Male and Female. Her and Hotch; Dia and Roberto. That was even more absurd. She and Hotch _weren't_ a couple. They weren't even close to being in a relationship…well, she amended, they hadn't been. Being thrust into a highly charged dangerous, isolated and torturous experience had certainly changed a lot of characteristics within their previously platonic relationship. They'd been snuggling like puppies in a pet shop window ever since they'd been reunited. How could T.J. possibly think that one of them had been cheating when they hadn't even been in a relationship. Tommy had obviously decided to take Hotch too, when he had so conveniently been at her apartment the night he had come to abduct her. So that had been planned, she realized. T.J. had been planning this re-creation for a long time. She was important to his master plan, whatever deranged topography that might turn out to be.

**I know I know...it all just keeps getting longer and longer...seriously, they were supposed to not be all reflecty and memorizing, but you can't control the muse...we all know that much at least...**

**Hope this satisfies some of your questions, if not...put them in the review and we'll see what the pixies have to say about it :)**

**Arc  
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	39. Chapter 39

**I don't really have anything to say, but felt like there needed to be some sort of 'author's note' at the start...oh wait!**

**I can do a disclaimer, haven't done one of those in forever, I'm of the mindset that this being a fanfiction website, it's fairly obvious that it's fan-based and not to be taken seriously as any kind of infringement. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine...otherwise we all know what sub-story would be going down with H & P!!!  
**

**I feel better, like I've said something worth saying, but in genuine reflection I realize it's not and I've made you all suffer through my slight brain seizure...sorry about that, you'll survive.  
**

He tried to think clearly. Thinking was the most important part of this, he needed to follow The Manual carefully, but a part of his brain was increasingly aware that at some point he had deviated. He looked at The Female Counterpart – Emily, a thought supplied, his vision swam and he suddenly saw two figures standing in the same place. A young Emily and an older Emily, a Counterpart and a Decider. They couldn't exist in the same person. That wasn't the way it worked. He shook his head fiercely. Rolling his neck from side to side and grinning as his neck popped. It didn't matter any more though. Did it? He had her where he wanted her, he knew it was all her fault. She had taken the life he deserved. The life he wanted. He had obeyed every demand and rule of The Observer, why was it that she had the successful life? She had the money, the family, the friends, a respected job, she worked for the government for goodness' sakes. He didn't. He didn't have any of that. No money, no friends, no family…the only companionship he could get was the kind you paid for. She probably had her pick of people. She worked with so many men, it probably didn't matter if she was in a relationship or not. He'd seen the way the man had looked at her as he had laid her down on her couch. T.J. had seen tenderness there, the man truly cared for her. He should have been the one to have someone like that in his life, preferably a female someone, but the sentiment was the same. She had disobeyed The Observer and _still _her life was better than his. It wasn't fair.  
She deserved to be punished.

He cracked his knuckles, letting the anger and outrage flow through him. He'd never consciously let it happen before. He had always tried to keep a tight reign on his emotions. The Manual had lead him to believe that was the way to live life. If you couldn't control yourself how could you be unbiased when it came to the truly important decisions?

The Original Observer had had proof that the couple were in an unfaithful relationship. He had _known_ for sure, but he hadn't wanted his close connection to the event to color his perceptions of their relationship. That was why he had worked so hard to construct a system that would allow others to make that judgment for him. He had constructed The Manual, and integrated the roles of the Exponent, Decider, Observer, Counterparts, so that he could get a proper judgment. A totally unbiased, clear, true viewing of the situation.

When the court had ruled that The Observer, who the court system stubbornly called James Russell, was guilty of two counts of murder and two counts of kidnapping, and had decided that his punishment was the death sentence T.J. had started visiting him. He always signed in under a different name. Every few months changing the pseudonym and his looks. Thankfully since he was a minor during the abduction and proceedings, his name was kept out of the public eye, which meant that none of the prison wardens ever knew who he really was. He had spent many hours with The Observer learning everything he could about the man's process. Why he did what he did. He was the only one to ever 'truly' know the real reason behind his ritual…

_A year before the abductions, James Russell was a happily married man. His wife was comfortable with their lifestyle and they had no immediate plans for children. Or at least, that was what she had led him to believe. She was a Professor of Criminal Justice at the local college. She was a wonderful teacher. She was highly integrated into the schooling life, and was a favorite among the students. He frequently came home from his white-collar job to find a motley crew of students bandying about their lounge room, trading insults and theories, chewing on pretzels and candy, downing popcorn and soda, laughing at his wife's humor and appreciating her intelligent quips. He had loved the sound of their home, the light that seemed to fill it with her students and their noise. He bragged about his wife often. He supposed, looking back, he idolized his wife, put her on a pedestal, put her somewhere she didn't quite belong. He took a little of that blame upon himself, he had expected too much of her. He had not allowed for the simplest of human errors. But some things, some errors, were simply unforgivable._

_Over the course of years, every so often, a particular student would take her fancy. She would see something special, something interesting, something unique. His wife's eyes would gleam with knowledge, and future, and potential. When this happened he knew he would start hearing one particular student's name over and over again. This student would appear in many conversations, a snippet, a line, a sigh, it was almost like his wife was having an intellectual, education crush on the student. Sometimes it was a male student, sometimes a female…gender wasn't an issue, it was all about the potential she could see in the student's future. She would start hinting that she should take the student under her wing…become a mentor to them. And of course, she would always bring it up with him first, he loved how considerate she was. He always encouraged her, she had an eye for that kind of thing. _

_But this one time, slightly longer than a year before he abducted Dia and Roberto, T.J. and Emily, she had abruptly stopped talking about her newest student, her newest infatuation. One day…nothing. It was like the student had died, or dropped out, and they were never mentioned again. He supposed if he had been more suspicious…more expecting of insidiousness, he would have noticed the other indicators in his wife's mannerisms. The other things that would have lead him more quickly to the truth. But he had been a trusting husband, and no one had betrayed him before. She was having an affair. That was why she never got to the next stage of offering to mentor her favourite student, she was being sidetracked by a lover. _

_He had done nothing._

_Too shocked to even contemplate confronting her, he had merely watched her closely, straining to see any sign of remorse, or guilt. He knew the exact day the relationship, if you could deign to call it that, had ended. She had been furious, coming back from the college, she initiated 'angry sex', one of the better times in their recent coming togethers. And afterwards he had retched in the bathroom. He couldn't believe she could be with him, after being with him. The next day, a car accident. Completely, really and truly…a car accident. And she had died. James had been torn, he loved his wife, he did. Loved her intensely, hated her too. Wanted her to die. She had cheated on him, and for what? He adored her, and she had broken their vows of fidelity. For what? Now she was dead, and she couldn't even apologize. _

_The day of the funeral he realized, he didn't want her to be sorry, he wanted her to pay for what she had done. And he wanted her lover to pay too. He only needed to figure out a way to do it, so that his conscience was clear. He needed to devise a way so that others, society, would know he was in the right. He spent months analyzing, perfecting and completing the ultimate system. He hand picked the players, defined and specified their roles. He found the place, got the tools, picked up his participants, and started. He was meticulous, methodical and totally calm. Until The Decider refused to decide, then he'd had to change the way he operated. He hadn't expected that. He realized this was what his wife and seen in her, this was why she was going to be the next favorite. She was steadfast, loyal…truthful. No matter what he threatened or did, she would not twist her understanding of the world, and truth, and morality simply because he wished it. She had a better understanding of life than he did. _

_On his last day, it gave him a perverse pleasure to see her waiting on the other side of the room. He knew she, at least, would there, making sure that he system by which society had agreed to abide was working. That the rulings of the Judge and the court system were outworked to the letter. A part of him was glad she was there, witnessing the end of the saga. He wasn't remorseful, except perhaps for what he had made The Exponent and Decider go through in those last days. It wasn't her fault that she had morals, and was too steadfast in them to change simply because her life was on the line. He respected her, he realized. At least their was some goodness left in the world._

**That was way reflector-y and not much action. But highly necessary. I figured it was about time the 'first' observer paid you all a visit. **

**Arc, please review, I'm almost malnourished! (Not really, I'm just having a little whinge)  
**


	40. Chapter 40

**More diabolical tangents and interwoven threads for you to deal with...**

T.J. pushed the old memories away. He wasn't The Original Observer, and quite truly he hadn't given up trying to be, but none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered now was that this painful existence ended. Her first. He wanted her to know exactly what was happening. Some part of him realized this had always been the ending. It was so obvious now, this had never been about re-creating The Observer's ritual. It was all about his relationship with her. His need to overcome her, and the life she had managed to steal from him. The life he deserved. He resolve grew hard. She needed to be punished for what she had done to him.

He stood quickly and stalked to the middle of the room. Standing tall in front of her, she was trapped awkwardly in the chair he had tied her in, he liked that she was lying on her side, underneath him, open to any control he might like to exert over her. The added height made him feel invincible, as did the messy curtain of hair shadowing her face. She liked to be neat and tidy, he remembered that about her from the past. She was always trying to fix her hair. She should have just cut it short like him, another pandering to social femininity. He smiled. She was so dainty, lying there, tired, hungry, dirty, scared. She was scared of him. She had every right to be. Especially now that she knew who he was. He reached behind one of the televisions sets, the spot where he had been storing his special backup plan. He pulled out an already filled syringe. It wouldn't be fair, in all of this re-creation, if she didn't re-live those last days, those last emotions, those last out-of-this world hallucinations and drugged up fantasies.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

She tried to squirm away from him, which was pretty useless, she couldn't let him know she was half untied. She had to keep that piece of information in her pocket, it would probably be useful later on. She knew exactly what he had in mind with the syringe and she had been extremely careful in avoiding all manner of drugs ever since she had first been dosed. She had whacked out reactions to them. Even though the drugs she had been given then were intended for her to go gaga, she didn't want a repeat performance, she didn't want to grow any kind of tolerance to them and she especially did not want to go through this again, now.

He eased the needle into her arm, this was one of those things you couldn't rush. He injected the liquid and watched her face for any effects. It was almost instantaneous. He loved her like this. Totally dependent on him. Her head lolling back, if she had been sitting up her head would probably have gone to the side and her eyes, they were rolling back into her head. He could see the whites of them, those pretty, pretty white orbs straining backwards, trying to get away from him. He frowned, he hadn't given her too much had he? He scrambled to untie her hands and feet. He wanted her completely mobile, as much as possible given her current situation.

She finally made her decision.

Hotch was free. But they were still stuck in the room, the only way out, a small manhole in the ceiling.

"Exponent?" Hotch said, trying to get the boy's attention.

"Christopher." The Exponent replied.

Hotch bunched his eyebrows together. This was a new development.

"My name's Christopher."

So he had finally chosen a side, and he had committed to it. It was good to know, Hotch felt he could trust the boy now. He was being honest.

"Is there something heavy above the door?" He pointed toward the ceiling, where the ladder and The Observer would come from.

"No, there's nothing up there. But it's too far away. You're taller than me, and you still can't reach it." Christopher almost swore, they were free, but still trapped.

"Is your upper body strength any good?" Hotch asked quickly.

"Not really, why?"

"We've got two choices. Either you stand on me, then pull me up, or I stand on you and pull you up."

"Up? Through the ceiling?" Christopher inquired. Hotchner couldn't be serious could he. They'd be lucky if one of them didn't fall over and break their neck.

"Through the ceiling…Can you do it?" Hotch waited as Christopher contemplated the distance between them and the roof.

"I won't be able to pull you up, and there's nothing close enough for you to leverage yourself with…" Christopher shrugged in helplessness.

"So, do you think you can handle my weight?" It was the only thing they had to try. If he couldn't then they would be stuck here.

"I can try." It was the only thing he had to offer.

"Let's do this then."

They manoeuvred themselves underneath the hole in the roof. Hotch realized he was tall enough that he wouldn't have to stand on the kid's shoulders to get out, a simple boost should suffice. Christopher instinctively braced his body for the oncoming weight. He cupped his hands, and waited. Hotch tested his body for any weaknesses. He knew this was going to hurt. The tightness of his wounds, the aches in his muscles, he was going to have overcome them, ignore them, focus on other things. He needed to get out of this room and help Emily. Emily was his first priority. Who knew what The Observer was doing to her. He'd better hope it wasn't too bad, Hotch would not be held accountable for his actions, not after they'd been held hostage for nearly three weeks, tortured…

Christopher dropped him a little the first time.

"It's okay." He said automatically. They didn't really have the time for this but it wasn't his fault he had no strength. They hadn't exactly been eating great these past few weeks.

"I've got it." Christopher said, "Won't happen again." His voice was tinged with fear, as if he expected Hotch to lash out at any moment. Hotch's mind threw imaginary A-bombs at the kid's parents. He never did figure out why people could do those types of things to their children. The whole idea of children was that they were a product of your own genes, your own DNA. It didn't make sense to hurt that which was yours. He added that into the ever-growing pile of things he would never understand.

Christopher's hold held, moving quickly he used his left arm to punch open the cover and held onto the opening ledges with his right hand. Grabbing the edge of the ceiling with his left arm, he began to slowly lift himself out of the room. His arms were burning with the strain, but he refused to stop. Stopping would only make his muscles weaker, and they were plenty weak right now. Three weeks of non-use were already showing their degradation. Eventually he managed to get his upper body out of the hole.

He rested, breathing heavily. This didn't use to be so hard. He would definitely need to do some pull up work when they got out of here…he smiled when he realized he had no doubts about that. They were going to get out here. All of them. He felt a tapping on his foot. Christopher was reaching with all his might, motioning that he should keep going. Hotch drew a breath…gathered some more strength and swung the rest of his body out of the manhole. He had never been so glad to be lying on a flat surface before.

He was just about the roll over and attempt to pull Christopher up when he heard some commotion coming from another room.

He moved quickly rushing to the door, it was slightly open and a thin sliver of light was streaming in.

"Hey what's going on?" He heard a voice call out in the darkness. But Hotch was more interested in what was happening on the other side.

Then there was a scream, wood breaking, glass shattering, loud, heavy thumpings, presumably objects falling on the floor.

Hotch had to make a decision; follow the noises, or help Christopher.

**Uh oh, anyone got any clues as to what Hotch will decide???**

**Please review, love to know what you're thinking.**

**Arc  
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	41. Chapter 41

**On with the show, people. Hope you all enjoy.**

Emily almost laughed.

T.J. screamed like a girl.

Her brain felt odd, and she had to remind herself she was currently under the influence.

She had finally made a decision. _The _decision?

It wasn't one she had thought she would ever make, not under these conditions and certainly not in relation to T.J. with whom she had always felt a bond. Apparently that was a one-sided bond, he didn't view her with a kind eye, and she was going to have to distance herself from him, who she thought he was, if she wanted to get out of this. And she did, she realized. She wanted to get out of this, alive, relatively unscathed, with Hotch and The Exponent.

After all those years of sacrificing herself, and her desires, letting The Observer, James Russell, destroy any attempt at a normal life, she was done. She was over it. Over all of it, and nothing was going to stop her from getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was quite clear, she wanted to be out of this hell-hole building, far away from T.J., preferably at home curled up in bed with Hotch.

_With Hotch?_

She pushed that realization away. She didn't have time for it, she could reflect and be embarrassed later. She had already stunned T.J. out of his superiority complex, he wasn't in charge of her, no matter how many mind-altering drugs he pumped into her system. She flipped herself over and away from the broken chair. In his haste, T.J. had undone the rest of her restraints and failed to notice she was already partially free. She had lashed out at him, managing to land a blow on his shin. Just because she had allowed Benjamin Cyrus to beat the crap out of her didn't mean she couldn't actually defend herself. That was a skill her father had bred into her at an early age. You never knew what might happen when you were overseas, or in-seas, or under-seas, even in your own country. Crap could, would and inevitably did, happen. Always be prepared…or some other boy scout/pony/brave beavers club motto. Emily didn't really care, and she tried not to notice that her vision was starting to swim disconcertingly.

T.J. was hopping about the room like a demented bunny, grasping at his shin and whining annoyingly. Or maybe it was a seagull.

Did the type of animal really matter right now?

Need to find something to defend myself and/or attack with.

There was only the broken chair, and the TVs in the corner. Nothing…that would make things more difficult. She managed to glean a tiny bit of information from her muddled up mind, stand with your knees bent a little, bring your fists up to protect your face. Protecting your face is a big part of defense. If your opponent gets past your defenses, you're done for. Nobody likes a bloody eye obscuring the view, plus it's not very pretty to look at.

T.J. must have known she wasn't going down without a fight. He threw a punch at her like she was Mike Tyson…

_No biting of the ears, thanks_.

He missed…does he even know how to fight?

She was ducking and weaving and staying out of his field of reach. But she was wobbling, she'd had to jump over the remnant of the chair a couple of times, she knew her balance must be off too. And the colors…that couldn't be good.

Every time he threw an arm around, streamers of color poured off him. She was starting to think that every emotion had a corresponding color, but that couldn't be right. T.J. was mostly just angry…and there were too many colors on him for that to be true. Besides didn't pink mean happy, cuddly, fluffy love?

Suddenly, T.J. ripped the television off the bench, the cord straining and breaking free of the wall, he hefted it above his head and lobbed it in her direction. She easily moved out of its way, but the adrenaline in his system must have exploded. He pounced at her.

Looking around the room quickly led her to notice the pile of wooden beams and sticks at her feet.

How long had they been there?

Didn't matter, these could be useful.

She bent quickly and retrieved a sturdy looking piece. Wielding it like a baseball bat, she took aim and whacked T.J. across the face with it. Cringing at the sound.

She hadn't expected it to sound quite like that.

Hadn't she been hit with a 2 x 4 before? Not that this piece of wood was a 2 x 4, it was more a 1 and a half x 1…but who was she to argue with physicality. She certainly wasn't in any position to be picky.

T.J. growled as he staggered away from her. He hadn't been expecting her to fight him with such intensity…she had been so compliant and malleable with The First Observer. When did she get so aggressive? If she wanted to play, he would play…he had nothing to lose. Didn't she realize that? She had everything to lose, and he had nothing.

He was vaguely surprised when she didn't rush him. If he'd just hit someone with a piece of wood, he'd would press his advantage. But she wasn't pressing, she seemed strange, absent…gone. His eyes drank her in, the drugs were finally getting to her.

Focus…focus, don't lose it now, Em. Come on.

Flicking her wrists to get her mind back on track, Emily watched T.J. carefully. Any movement on his part needed to avidly pursued. She couldn't take any chances, not when there were the lives of the couple riding on this…

That's not right…

The couple were dead, she went to their funeral. Mother hadn't wanted her to, but she had insisted. It was necessary for closure. Nobody knew they were dead because of her decision. The decision to _not_ make a decision, that's what got them killed.

NO. She discarded that thought, wallowing in guilt and false self-accusation didn't help.

They were murdered by James Russell and nothing she _ever_ did was going to change that…now why didn't T.J. understand this?

On second thoughts, she decided as the man in question tried to punch her again, it didn't matter quite so much what T.J. thought now. He was the criminal, no empathy allowed. At least, not while she was fighting for her life.

She ducked him…again! T.J. was getting more and more frustrated by the second. She wasn't supposed to be able to evade him this easily. He was the man, she was the woman. He was supposed to be the stronger, more agile one. With every step that she eluded him his anger rose. She was wielding the damn wooden stick effectively, he couldn't get close to her.

Every time he tried, the timbered weapon would strike his closest appendage. He was going to be covered in bruises and splinter scratches in the morning. Abruptly, he didn't care about the pain anymore.

He just wanted her dead.

He'd never wanted anyone dead before, at least, he hadn't ever realized it if he had. His whole body tensed. He wanted this, no matter what. He launched himself at her body.

They crashed into the wall, falling down with him grappled on her. Her back sliding down the wall. They landed awkwardly in the crook of the floor and wall. She was batting at him with her hands, kicking unmercifully. But she was weak. And drugged. He would overcome.

Panic galloped through her body. She was too weak to get him off. Thankfully her frantic motions had kept him from grabbing her around the neck, not for his lack of trying though. As soon as she stopped. He was going to suffocate her. But she didn't know how long her mind could stay active in this moment. If she let her concentration slip, she was gone. That's one thing that had proven useful from the first abduction. She had great concentration, she tended to call it compartmentalization nowadays, but really it was just a mental skill. Ignore everything else to the exclusion of one important thought or action. She couldn't afford to be distract…ed…Hotch?

**Nobody fear the Hotch-man is here!**

**You'll all just have to tune in later, when I get around to posting, to find out who's going to save the day? Anybody got votes?**

**Arc  
**


	42. Chapter 42

**I got some interesting votes for who should 'save' Emily from T.J.**

**There was quite a lot for the Hotchman to be the rescuer, a vague mention for the team to save her, a couple for Smokey...one (from tfm) for Strauss to save Emily... Fortunately, _that_ is never going to happen in my universe, I let tfm have SuperStrauss for her Para-Noir sequel-verse though, I'm waiting on the edge of my seat for what that looks like :)**

**I was surprised nobody wanted Emily to save herself!!! All interesting ideas though...you'll have to keep reading to find out where this goes!**

**On with the story...  
**

Aha, distraction. His hands immediately closed around her throat. He was going to enjoy watching the life bleed from her eyes. She would school her fear. He knew that much about her. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching her fearfully greet death. But she would still be greeting death. And he would be the one holding the door open for him. The spectre of black, clothed in despair, mourning and weeping, silver scythe reflecting in the moonlight. Oddly, his eyes caught sight of the time…in another couple of hours the sun would be rising…a new day…and Emily Prentiss would be dead.

Seriously though, who knew when you were suffocating everything went pretty. Or sucky…not sure which…

Everything was amplified…amplification…amplificated.

Purple, blue, red, silver…no silver, silver was bad.

Silver meant electricity, which meant torture.

Why was there a silver man in the doorway?

It's getting harder to see.

Why was that?

Oh…my eyes are closing.

That means something important. What does that mean again?

I'm dying.

Oh my God! I'm dying!

Christopher stared at the empty hole in disbelief. Hotchner had left him…

Hotchner was a better man than that. He would have to have a good reason. At least, that's what part of his subconscious was trying to tell him. The other part was berating him for allowing himself to be used like this. He should have demanded he be allowed out first. Now he was going to have to hope on human kindness to get him out of this room. As if that was likely to happen. Experience had taught him otherwise.

Aaron steeled his resolve. He knew the kinds of thoughts that would be flowing through Christopher's mind, but it could not be helped. The scream was more important. Christopher was safe for now, there wasn't any danger for him in that room, especially since The Observer was more interested in Emily. Which meant that the scream signified something dangerous _for Emily_. The sounds that he was following were the more important. He moved stealthily along the walls, sinking into the darkness. There was light emanating from an adjoining room. There were small sounds, muted. Hotch slipped into his Agent persona. He didn't have any weapons, but he didn't need them His fists and mind were more effective anyway. He eased toward the doorway. Angling his body to squeeze through the gap, he didn't want to move the door; if it was a creaky door, The Observer might hear it and the element of surprise would be lost. He peered through the slim rectangle of light, growing impatient as his eyes took longer than necessary to adjust. There were two figures in the room, they were fighting.

Emily.

She was pinned against a wall.

They were sliding down, but she was fighting. She wasn't giving up. That's my girl…

He tentatively pushed the door open, no sounds. Perfect. The door swung open slowly, no need to draw attention to myself. Emily's focus was on The Observer, and his was on her. There were so completely focused they wouldn't know what hit them. Her eyes suddenly connected with his, it was a strange force. Almost as if their eyes held some magnetic frisson. Simply by her will, they had joined, an invisible chain linking across the room.

Unfortunately, that moment of connection was all The Observer needed. His hands immediately enclosed her neck and she did nothing to stop him.

Her features were wrong, Hotch realized. Something was wrong with Emily, besides the obvious.

He could see the realization build, if he didn't do something she was going to suffocate. She was going to die. He braced himself and charged The Observer.

Arms, legs, ribs, knees, ankles, foot, fabric, hair, knuckles, nose, chin, nails, scratches, noises, grunts.

There was an odd looking object in front of her. She didn't know how far away it was, but it was interesting to look at. What was it? Curved see-through material…sand, no that's not right. Something to do with sand, and heat. Lightening, there was some movie about this, she had seen it a while ago, what was it? Oh! I remember…glass. Curved glass. Like a ball, but smaller, a bubble maybe. There was something inside it, small, bright, fine…filament? Oh, I know this…I know this! What is it?

Light bulb!

Aaron grunted again. The Observer was quite strong, but there was no way he was letting him near Emily again. Where was she? He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, while his body sailed over a broken pile of wood. He heard the rip of fabric, great. Now he and Prentiss had matching shirts.

Emily was lying on the floor, peering sightlessly at the ceiling.

What had he done to her?

T.J. was furious. This was his time. This was the designated time for Emily to die. There was no way this stupid man was going to keep him from fulfilling his destiny. He had to end this, soon. He saw the man look toward Emily again. One more time and I've got you. They struggled for a few more minutes. And there he goes. Hotchner glanced over at Emily, T.J. took his long awaited opportunity. He reached out and grabbed a broken shard of the television , the glass or plastic or whatever it was that television screens were made of, was quite sturdy in his hand. He scraped it quickly across Hotchner's torso, grinning as the growl of pain erupted from the man's mouth. Hotchner immediately and reflexively let go, exactly what T.J. wanted.

Hotch was insanely annoyed with himself. He reconciled that it was human nature to shy away from pain. But now he needed to gain the upper hand, again, and The Observer wasn't stupid enough to make it easy. He rolled over quickly, placing himself between The Observer and Emily. She was _still_ lying on the floor. It was like she didn't know what was going on. What had he done to her?

For her part, Emily was only vaguely aware that a fight for her survival was going on around her. By this time, the cocktail of drugs had fully saturated her system. For some reason, the light bulb seemed highly spectacular to her. She was watching it closely, waiting for it to change. When a man shaped shadow hovered over her, she indistinctly remembered that Hotch was somewhere nearby. Why was that important? She closed her eyes to think. She needed to focus. What was the most important thing?

Decisions.

She wasn't supposed to make any decisions. But she had, why had she done that? And for that matter, what decision had she made?

A little help here, Hotch thought. He wasn't so much angry or annoyed at Prentiss, something terribly bad must have happened for her to be out of commission. But he truly needed a hand. He was too weak. He wasn't going to be able to make this on his own. He had never feared death, or sacrifice, and he wasn't about to start now. But he wanted her to fight back. It would be so disappointing if they both died because she hadn't tried. She probably was trying, you idiot, he berated himself as another sharp jab to his face connected with The Observer's fist. How could anyone maintain this sort of energy? Because he hasn't been partially starved and tortured for three weeks? Yeah, that just might be it.

Come on Emily.

I need you.

"I need you." Somebody said.

Lucidity broke through her darkly lit existence.

Somebody needed her.

She looked wildly about the room, trying to place where she was and with whom.

Hotch!

Hotch needed her, and he'd actually said it…out loud.

**Come on people, really, who thought I was actually going to let them be saved _that_ quickly? **

**I'm too Machiavellian for that ;)**

**Arc  
**


	43. Chapter 43

**I got in big trouble for my remark last chapter, about nobody voting for Emily to save herself. Sienna27 practically threw a grenade at me, over the oceans and land masses. So apologies to her, but really she did 'vote' for that like, four weeks before I gave everyone the option. So technically, does that really count? **

She scrambled with crazed efficiency. Toes curling into the hard floor, she stumbled a little once she was vertical…being high on drugs would do that to your equilibrium. What to do, how to help?

T.J. smashed his elbow down into Hotchner's gut, he grinned mercilessly at the pained sound it caused. Maybe he should pursue a career in wrestling when this was over. What would his name be?

Hotch noticed The Observer's concentration falter. He immediately hooked one of his legs under his opponent's body. Thankful that his self-defense training was second nature now.

Emily watched in surprise as T.J.'s body randomly flipped. Hotch was so strong! She cringed when she realized her inner voice had taken on the persona of a seventh grade girl. She made a beeline for Hotch. She wasn't quite clear on what she could do to help but she knew she needed to be near him for any assistance.

Hotch instinctively knew Emily was back in the game. He wasn't sure how, didn't really care, all that mattered was that she was back. She could help him now. They needed to work together for them to have any chance of getting out of this.

There was a flicker of movement. Who could that be?

Emily.

T.J. reached out and pulled at one of her ankles, left or right he wasn't sure. It didn't matter either way, she crashed into the floor.

She'd been upright a second ago, of that, she was certain. She remembered feeling skin near her foot, cold, sweaty, meaty flesh grabbing at her bones. Now she was horizontal, back lying flat on the floor interrupted by debris. There was another body near her. Who was that? Eyes met eyes.

Hotch.

Emily.

Now they were both on the floor. Hotch knew, no matter what, he was dead if she remained here. The only thing keeping him alive was…nothing. The Observer wanted Emily. But he wouldn't hesitate to kill him to get to her. So he had a choice. Him or her.

She tried to think, truly she did. But everything was…not fuzzy, not even blurry really, it was shiny, shimmery, flow-y…it was nice, in an agitated way. What was she doing again?

Decision time.

I was doing something important.

She blinked slowly, deliberately and looked behind her shoulder. There was a very familiar man looming over her. Intent eyes piercing into her. Trying to tell her something.

If you come to me, I'll spare Hotchner.

You need to get away, nothing matters except you getting away…Emily.

Somewhere, slightly to the left and one level down, Christopher froze as the sounds of the fight stilled.

Come back for me…somebody…anybody? "I'm here." He whispered.

"We need to go in…now." Morgan stated.

Rossi and JJ nodded their agreement.

Smokey's mob were in position. They had the building surrounded. Doug and Lucas took up the rear guard, so to speak, of their posse. Who would have ever thought it? FBI and biker gangs doing a joint rescue operation?

The cool, night air spun the dust covered ground. Garcia trilled slightly as she tried to find a schematic of the building through her electronic baby. She'd found an old blueprint but she wasn't so sure there hadn't been renovations. She had tried sitting inside the SUV at first, but had felt left out of the group, now she was sitting on the round, her back leaning against Rossi's roller-coaster car. Reid was perched beside her, not quite sitting, not quite standing. It had been decided already, he, JJ and Garcia would wait outside the building with Doug and Bordeaux. Rossi, Morgan, Smokey and Lucas would be the only ones going in. They'd scout out the situation. Take the UnSub down if necessary or yell for backup.

Rossi and Morgan led the charge, they had the guns, so they got undisputed first dibs. Smokey and Lucas, wielding chains and a baseball bat, followed quickly.

It was dark…naturally. As if storming into the bad guy's lair was ever going to be unnaturally bright. It was practically against the whole constitution. Dust and grime swiped under their booted feet, painting gloomy arcs on the already depressing floor. Rossi and Morgan shuffled forward, following the flickering light.

The light was flickering because Hotch and T.J. were upright, locked in a shuffling stand off, arms grasping arms, eyes at eyes, noses aligned, feet mirrored, woman caught between.

Emily didn't know how she was going to get out of this mess. She was currently stuck between T.J. and Hotch. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure how exactly, there had been another scuffle, another meeting of manly aggression. But they'd fought, slapped, punched, kicked and wrestled and she'd ended up, unknowingly, caught between their feet. She'd caught a lot of T.J.'s booted foot in her side, Hotch hadn't kicked her, he hadn't hurt her, but it also meant he couldn't do more than hold onto T.J. which meant she was in prime position for an extended kicking. But she could take it. She said it enough times with Cyrus, Hotch would know she could handle it…at least this time there was no glass, no mirrors. The scars had taken weeks to go away. That pathetic feeling every morning in the bathroom, seeing the fine white lines on her arms. That was worse. Worse than the pain of the bruises, bruises faded, pain ebbed away, but those lines, those scars, they might stay. She'd been scared. Scared that they wouldn't go away. A part of her would have made herself view them as battle wounds, marks of the lives they'd saved that night. But, she would have had to force herself to think that, to believe that. It would have been a huge effort. And truly, she didn't know if she had that much energy. It was tiresome concentrating, compartmentalizing. Why else was it such a rare gift, if you could call it that.

Hotch wasn't letting go. They couldn't afford it. She couldn't afford it. The look in her eyes, when he knew that for a couple of seconds, she hadn't known who he was. That was probably, one of, the most terrifying moments of his life. He could deal with death, and pain, and blood, and torture…but Emily forgetting who he was. He didn't want to think about it. It almost ranked with him never getting to see Jack again. Quite close actually…which was a BIG surprise. He hadn't realized he cared this much about Prentiss…about Emily.

T.J. scowled. This wasn't working. Usually the male of the couple, the dominant, was supposed to care about the female, he wasn't supposed to let her get beat up by his shoes. What kind of man was this Hotchner?

He wasn't being sympathetic to Emily, no way. He wasn't! He had ethics, he had morals. The Observer had drilled them into him. The couple had been unfaithful and they deserved to be punished. Any infraction of his moral code stipulated punishment. He kicked out again, revelling in her muffled grunt. He watched as Hotchner's eyes flicked to his, drilling into his brain. Oh, I know what kind of man you are, he thought. If you had a weapon, right now…you'd be as determined as I am to kill.

**Everything's coming together my pretties...**

**Arc  
**


	44. Chapter 44

Black.

Pain.

Wet.

Pain.

Noisy.

Pain.

Slowly, like wading through mud, she tried to move her hands to her face. She wondered if she was at home, weighed down by her comforter, twisting in her sheets. Maybe upstairs had a water leak and that's why her face was wet. She touched her neck, her chin…it didn't feel like water. The consistency was off.

"Emily." She heard. The voice sounding gruff, in pain…familiar.

She cracked open one eye, staring blurrily out of her slumbered position. She wasn't in bed…not quite surprised. She couldn't remember where she was, or why she was. Who were those two men? One of them more familiar. Something tugged in her heart. Fear suddenly rose. She didn't want to lose him. That was the only important thing she could recognize. Whoever this man was, he was important to her, she didn't want to lose him, she needed him.

Hotch was losing strength…he couldn't believe how quickly it was sliding away from him. He'd been through endurance training. But apparently, he wasn't as strong as he thought he was, it was a sobering realization. He'd seen the last devastating kick The Observer had dealt Emily. The way the side of her face had narrowly missed his boot. Except, she must not have been as quick as he had first thought. She'd blacked out. Completely listless. Blood trickled from her mouth, he hoped it was simply because she had bitten her lip, not anything more serious. He could dream…right? But watching Emily, being in complete shock, had given The Observer the upper hand. He had grabbed him dragging him away toward the corner of the room. Far away from the unconscious Emily. He'd been calling her while struggling with the man. Not wanting to give up hope that she might regain consciousness and somehow help them get out of here.

Rossi focused intensely on the slight sounds coming from the next room. Feet shuffling, scraping noises, and male grunts. Vaguely Hotch. He heard a gasped 'Emily'. Time to let go of the surprise attack.

He motioned to Derek. _We're going in_.

Derek nodded his compliance. He looked over his shoulder to Smokey and Lucas, quirking an eyebrow, _ready?_

Smokey watched intently as Grumpy and Shaft got closer to their destination. The door of doom beckoned them nearer. Light spilled from its seams, but the darkness of the room ebbed untidily around it. Smokey stared hard at the beam, he needed his eyes to be adjusted when they broke through the barrier separating them from their targets. There was no way they weren't getting Shadow and Severe out of this alive…there'd be hell to pay if they were dead, slightly less if they were alive and hurt, and a teensy bit less if they were alive and okay. But still, lots of hell raining down on Creeper, it'd be a biblical size smoting. He face automatically morphed into his version of Batman's grim smile. Lucas, slightly behind him, crouched a little.

He'd seen his fair share of fights, and it always helped for the other party to not know how tall, how massively strong he really was. Made it easier to overpower them. They were going to use every advantage they had. They were by the door now. Agent Grumpy on the left, Shaft on the right, Smokey in the middle, and he was bringing up the rear. It was his job to clean up the mess. He was the last line of defense. No one was getting past him.

Bordeaux shifted next to JJ, she was staring intently at the warehouse. Shuffling her feet, flexing her fingers, a look to the left, a look to the right, and the whole process began again. She needed a distraction, that much was obvious. He didn't know her well enough to properly cause one. Perhaps he should get Reid or Garcia to talk to her. Or maybe he should just let her continue. Nervous energy was the worst kind. Sometimes you just needed an outlet. Otherwise she could go postal at any moment. Yes, perhaps it was better to let her continue.

Emily was on her back, the ceiling loomed in front of her. It was waving and rolling like an ocean. She half expected seabirds to tumble down at any moment. Fish to rise and whales to come and swallow her whole. That was in a book wasn't it? Moby…Jonah? Dick and the Whale? She blinked rapidly. Again…was this important? There was movement on the corner of her eye. She flicked her gaze toward it. Perhaps this was Mr. Jonah Moby…no, not Jonah, two men that were familiar. They were fighting too, that wasn't right. She realized one of them was calling her name. Suddenly her ears became the primary source of information, there were people outside of the door. People were coming to kill her, and Hotch. No!

She couldn't let The Observer kill the couple. Even if they had done something wrong, it was their decision what to do about it, even if there were laws regarding adultery, it was in a proper court, with a judge, and a peer group of jurors. She wasn't going to let The Observer ruin what this country was trying to build, the Justice System.

She rose effortlessly, blood still dripping from her lip. It was cut. When had that happened? She wiped it quickly with her hand, smearing it up her jaw and cheek. She immediately forgot it had ever happened. Her brain more focused on the interesting auras emanating from the two men in the corner of the room.

One was all gold and silver and blue…beautiful colous reflecting and morphing into each other, shimmering and streaming. Glorious to watch. The other was tan, orange, and green, disjointed, almost painful in it's intensity but oddly comforting. She knew this color scheme. It was darker then she was used to, the hues, the tones, they were menacing, not at all the way she remembered them. She remembered those colors being gentle, soothing, now they were murky, broken…confused. Something was wrong with this person from her past. And he was hurting the silver one, she realized. The silver one's pretty colors were disappearing, bleeding out into the air. She had to do something.

Without warning, the murky one pushed the silver one roughly. His body sprawling out onto the floor, opening up the room for the murky one to direct his colors at her. I wonder what my colors are?

Tan and orange and green assaulted her, pushing her further and further away from the door. The door that the others were going to come through. She knew they were coming. She just didn't know what they wanted. Were they coming to help her, or help him? Or maybe they were coming to help the other him, the gold one. The man that was so familiar, whose very voice could summon her from the blackness.

Unexpectedly, T.J.'s face materialized. His neck stretching out from the murky one's colors. She gasped back a shocked cry. What was he doing here?

She remembered.

He was trying to kill her.

She was so confused, the conflicting feelings, the emotions that were barraging her, concern for Hotch, and the boy (The Exponent), the others behind that door (who she now realized were probably the Team), her bond with T.J. (that apparently wasn't real), the memories of Dia and Roberto (the poor, murdered, adulterous couple who had ruined James Russell's life), the death of The Observer's wife, Ellen Russell, Emily's Professor. The woman who got her interested in Profiling in the first place. None of it made sense, and all of it made sense.

T.J. somehow hustled her toward the adjoining room, the one she had first come out of. Or so she assumed, since she had been unconscious at the time. But Hotch had arrived through that second door, so it was safe to assume she had been held hostage through there as well.

Her back hit the wall, half on the door frame. It rattled her body awkwardly, her spine twisting on the frame, wood groaning and buckling. It was an old warehouse, her mind promptly supplied.

She was shaking the stars from her vision when the other door, the first door, the others' door, opened inwardly with a resounding kick. A greying man; serious, grim, pointing a gun down the room at her. A twin gun resting in the caress of a taller, African-American man equally serious, less grim. His sharp, intense eyes staring straight into hers. An expression of familiarity enveloped his face, his eyes instantly softening, only to harden once more when T.J. turned to see who had caused the noise.

Vaguely, behind them, she could make out the silhouettes of two others. One of them looked familiar.

The man on the floor stood up. His stamina seemed to have returned.

Where was she, and what the hell was going on?

She gripped tightly onto T.J.'s arm, she knew him at least.

They were in this together.

**Dum Dum DARRRRR!!!**

**Very, very soon my pretties, the flying monkeys shall ascend, the whales will be flapping thier fins, and you, dear readers, will know the ending/outcome of the 'rescue'...**

**I'm rather excited.**

**Arc, please review. I do so love to know what you're all thinking.  
**


	45. Chapter 45

**As requested by one faithful reader and reviewer...I'm hurrying up and letting them be rescued already...**

Hotch felt more than saw Morgan and Rossi enter the room. He knew their presence. Morgan gave him a hand up as Rossi, plus two (who were they?), centred their weapons on The Observer. Only Emily seemed to have slipped again, her mind wasn't in the present. She was clutching The Observer with a familiar intensity. She thought _they_ were the enemy, and _he_ was her friend. He had to do something quickly. _Before_ Rossi and Morgan did something with the idea that Emily would actually understand what was happening. They couldn't rely on any of her training, she had basically reverted back to her college persona.

Hotch struggled past Morgan, leaning on him but standing in front of him, effectively making his gun useless.

"Hotch?" He heard Morgan hiss from behind his head. The sound caused Rossi and the others to falter. "You okay Hotch?" Morgan whispered trying not to spook the hostile Tommy-Joel Parker.

"Yeah…"

"Any injuries?" Rossi inquired, always concerned with what he could do, not with things he couldn't change.

"I'll live."

"Hotch?" Rossi warned, he wasn't in the mood for some stalwart ignorance of a possibly life-threatening wound.

"It's fine. Not bleeding, no broken bones. I'm good…for now. I'll be better once we get her out of here! He's in the end game…she's the end!" Hotch wasn't as loquacious as usual, his wounds and recent fight made it hard for him to talk, especially as he was so concerned for Emily.

"What's the game?" A strange voice asked.

Hotch turned around and was faced with a slightly familiar face. He couldn't place it.

"Smokey Tom. You picked Shadow up from the bar the night you disappeared."

Hotch nodded in recollection, "The game…that would be her, dead."

"We're not going to let that happen." Smokey responded, a steely timbre flooding through his voice.

"Right…" Hotch tried to think. They needed to get their Emily back. He could only imagine what she thought was going on. He hoped she hadn't forgotten who he was.

This wasn't what they had planned, Derek thought. They were going to come in, save the day, and get to claim their hero rights. Apparently Hotch and the UnSub had other plans.

Emily had never been more terrified. She couldn't seem to get a handle on her emotions either. Those men looked familiar, all of them. Some more than others, but still…if they were the enemy, why did she feel like she knew them, and knew them well? For that matter, if they weren't the enemy and were in fact her friends, why were they aiming their guns at her?

T.J. saw his opportunity present itself. With Hotch barring the others from using their weapons, he was clear to proceed without caution. He shifted his weight, so that with one determined push, Emily stumbled backwards through the open door. He immediately tried to close it. He had previously attached a dead bolt in case of emergencies, and this definitely qualified as an emergency.

The five men instantly rushed forward. Hotch indistinctly remembered cold hard steel protruding from behind that door. He guessed a dead bolt. There was no way he could allow Emily to get caught behind that door, alone, with The Observer.

Morgan and Lucas, being significantly younger, their bodies empowered by adrenaline, were the first to wedge their bodies between the door and its frame. Lucas grunted harshly as the heavy wood slammed into his side. Morgan's foot was toeing it's way into the room, while Lucas remained steadfast in his position. They weren't losing Emily to that shadowy room.

There was nothing Smokey or Grumpy or Severe could do to help with the Battle of the Door. Lucas and Shaft were hogging all the space. From his vantage-point, Smokey couldn't see what was happening to Shadow. He hoped that Lucas' grunting and blasted swearing would quieten down so that they could hear her. But he supposed, Lucas couldn't help the fact that Creeper was using the door as a sledgehammer. It keep buckling and reverberating. Smokey suspected Creeper was slamming his body against the door, trying to get Shaft and Lucas to move back. They weren't going to, if necessary he and Grumpy would take over, and Lucas would go and get their thirty-odd replacements. They could go on all night…how long could the Creeper keep that level of intensity up?

He also realized that if Lucas and Shaft would only work _together_ instead of trying to be the savior of the day, they could easily push the door open when Creeper took another break between batterings.

Emily was standing in the middle of the dank room. T.J. was protecting them from the outsiders, but she could hear something. Something soft and whispery. What was that? A voice? An angel? A hummingbird? Maybe that seagull was back again…perhaps the light bulb was trying to tell her something. No, the light bulb was in another room. How did she get into this room?

Growling and swearing interrupted her thoughts. What was T.J. doing here?

"Emily." A small voice called out.

She looked around the room. There wasn't anyone else in here. Only T.J. protecting them, and herself. She didn't usually talk to herself…did she?

"Emily, I'm down here!" It called again.

"Where are you?" She asked quietly, afraid there would be no answer.

"Down, there's a hole in the floor."

She crouched to see better. There was a hole! Why was that there? She peered over the edge, conscious that T.J. was still fighting off those guys. Shouldn't she help him? Her body refused to respond to that impulse, as if some deeper part of her understood what was happening. She tried not to think too hard about that, thinking hurt her mind. It made funny colors pop up around the people she looked at. If she thought really, really hard, even her own hands started floating colors.

"Can you help me up?" A boy asked from below her. Peering up at her from the hole in the floor. She wondered if she'd found Alice's rabbit hole? He didn't look like the Mad Hatter, or a cat. Was he a page for the Red Queen?

"How did you get down there, It?"

"I'm The Exponent?" He replied.

"No, T.J.'s The Exponent." Was this a new trick of The Observer's?

"I'm the…Christopher."

Something was very wrong with Emily. Christopher wondered where Hotchner was…only he could make her believe he was on their side. He'd spent more time with him.

"Christopher who?" She asked, "Why are you down there? Did the Queen threaten you?"

"It doesn't matter right now, you have to get me out of here." He didn't know where Hotchner was, or even if he was coming back. He didn't know what was wrong with Emily or why she was so concerned with an imaginary queen but maybe he could convince her to get him out of this room, then he wouldn't be alone.

"Do you have a croquet mallet?"

"A what?" This was getting stranger and stranger, "look, it doesn't matter. Can you see the ladder?"

"There's a ladder?" She seemed incredulous that there would be a ladder.

"Yes a ladder, it's the only way to get out of this room. I need to you to find it and put it down the hole, so I can climb out." He shouldn't have needed to explain the purpose of a ladder to her. She wasn't stupid.

"Oh, okay. Hold on. I'll ask T.J."

"No WAIT!" But it was too late, her head had already popped out of view.

T.J. realized he couldn't maintain this level of strength much longer. He'd somehow managed to slide the ladder behind the door and one of the warehouse's old cabinets. That thing was heavy and made of serious timber, he had lessened the power he needed to maintain control of the door. But one man against two, even with the aid of a cabinet and ladder, just wasn't going to cut it. Plus they had extras back there. He needed collateral, something to keep them from killing him, and they would too. He'd seen those two big guys' faces, and that older pudgier one. He had the look of a killer.

Suddenly, Emily was behind him prattling on about a ladder that she needed for the Queens' page. The Christopher.

What in the hell was she talking about?

Christopher???? Oh, his Exponent. Was he still in the room? He quickly became frustrated with her insane ramblings. Didn't she realize he hated her. Why was she asking him for help? He would never help her. She was more concerned for this Exponent than she had ever been for him. The Observer was right to try and kill her. She needed to be broken, shattered, splintered beyond recognition.

A swell of rage erupted from within him. He unconsciously forced out a primitive yell, pushing at Emily, her weak body instantly hurtling backward. She twisted to try and right herself. Her feet got caught up with each other, her balance was lost and she fell over the hole. Her right side cracking into the corner of the floor and the rest of her body disappearing down the hole. A grunt escaped her.

"Emily?" He heard a young man's voice call out uncertainly.

"That'll teach you to pick and choose who you care about." He spat. Lashing out with a foot to kick at her legs, the only thing keeping her from falling through the hole and into the room where Christopher was.

"Emily, quick, fall down. I'll catch you." Christopher said, tugging at her arm. She didn't seem to notice him.

"Emily!" Morgan's voice called out in the dark room. He couldn't make out an individual figures, only one indistinct mass of shadow near the back of the room.

Lucas, Rossi, Smokey and Hotch filed in after Derek. They too, froze at the unexpected sight.

**Sorry, Cissy...I lied.**

**They're not rescued yet...Soon. Very soon.**

**Next post actually. I promise, a _real _promise this time.  
**

**Arc  
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	46. Chapter 46

**So remember, previously it was all cliffhangery!!! And now it's all rescuey...hopefully...finally ;)**

Emily was sitting on top of T.J. repeatedly hitting his unconscious form. Tears streaming down her face. Her fists battering his torso ineffectually.

"Emily, Emily." Christopher called from somewhere, "please…you can stop now." His voice sounded weak, afraid.

He was so pleading, so quiet, one insistent hand on her foot, it pulled her gently back from wherever she had gone. His earnest beseeching, repeating over and over again 'you can stop now. Everything's okay. It's over. Please.' It was the only thing that got through to her, the only thing that brought her back. Not Hotch's hand trying to soothe her, or Morgan's attempts to settle her flailing hands. Rossi and Lucas were hovering over T.J. making sure if he awoke, that he wouldn't be going anywhere.

It had been a few minutes since they had first entered the room and found her beating the unresponsive T.J. Morgan had gently prized her off him, carrying her in his arms to the other room. Rossi and Lucas had rescued the ladder and Christopher had joined them a few moments later. He and Hotch had nodded at each other, clearly everything was forgiven.

Smokey was pondering in the corner. It felt strange, there was no clear 'winner' here. He wasn't sure who should get the rights to being the rescuer. By all accounts, if he and the FBI hadn't gotten here, Severe and Shadow may very well have saved themselves.

Hotch could have hugged her when he saw the old Emily re-enter her eyes. But from his initial, quick perusal, he was pretty sure she had at the very least, bruised a couple of ribs. They needed to go the hospital as soon as possible. They could wait around for a couple of ambulances but it would be more effective and faster to just leave in the SUV's and go straight to the ER. The only problem was getting her from here to the cars, in her present condition, he wasn't sure how long _this_ Emily would stay. The adrenaline that had previously flooded his system and kept him going was beginning to flag. His shoulders ached, his fists ached, his feet and wrists and ankles; they all ached, his head hurt and the pain in his chest still hadn't gone away. He'd didn't want the team to know what had happened to him just yet. He wanted to make sure that Emily was okay. He might be physically hurt, but she had who knows how many different types of drugs running through her system. She needed to detox under controlled conditions.

He tried to stand and failed. Morgan and Rossi both looked over at him surprised. Morgan looped an arm around Hotch's back, steadying him as he tried to rise again. This time he succeeded.

"Okay, Hotch it's time we all left this building and went home." Derek said striving for a jovial tone.

"Hospital first." Hotch replied.

Rossi shot Hotch a sideways glance. Aaron never willingly went to the hospital. It seemed to be an FBI unwritten, unspoken code of conduct. You never freely chose to go the hospital, you always had to be talked into it or ordered. What had happened here that they didn't know?

"Who should escort Emily and the boy?" Rossi inquired. Even though Hotch was technically one of the victims here, their friendship and sense of family required him to defer to Hotch. Hotch had a better understanding of the dynamics of this event than any of the team would.

"The boy will follow. He knows what's happening…Emily…it depends." Hotch sighed, and shook his head.

"What's exactly wrong with her?" Morgan asked. Her behavior had been very strange. First off, why had she sided with T.J. in the beginning, only to be found trying to beat him to death, then crying hysterically, and now she was still slumped in the corner of the room ignoring them all. She seemed almost catatonic.

"Pretty colors." Emily replied.

Everyone turned to look at her. It was the first thing she'd said since they'd arrived, guns drawn.

"Emily?" Rossi said, crouching down to meet her at eye level.

"Do I know you?" She asked quietly, not at all perturbed to be in a room with unknown quantities of people.

"Yes, you know me." He replied.

"You sure? I'd think I'd remember some one like you. Are you one of the jurors?"

"Jurors?"

"At the court case?"

Rossi swung around to glance at Morgan, did she think she was back at the court case for James Russell?

"Where are you Emily?" He asked instead.

"Where's The Christopher?"

"Sorry?" Rossi was confused. Emily had never been hard to follow before.

"She means me." The boy, the other kidnap victim stated from across the room, "I'm right here Emily." He said to her as he moved toward her.

"Oh, good. I thought maybe the Queen had gotten you."

"I'm alright." He patted her arm.

"What is she talking about?" Morgan inquired.

"I have no idea. It's better to just placate her, I suppose. She's been drugged. We can't expect her to be plausible in anything she's thinking. I mean, before, when we in that room with The Observer. She didn't even know what a ladder was used for." Christopher replied, trying to sound like an adult. Maybe if they thought he was old enough, they wouldn't call his parents to come get him from the hospital. It was bad enough Hotchner and Emily knew what was happening at his home. The State didn't need to know too.

"What?" Came the resounding reply.

"It's true." Hotch said, breaking through their incredulousness, "that's why we need to go to the hospital. We have to figure out what The Observer gave her."

They all nodded, reluctant to believe that she had gone through this atrocity a second time. They still needed to figure out who should be the one to get her outside. The chatted quietly for a few moments, each one figuring they had a better chance than the others.

"I'll do it." Smokey said, reminding the others that he had in fact, not left the room, "I can keep her distracted until we get to the hospital, even if I have to regale her with my many outlandish stories. We'll get her there, don't worry."

"Hey! I know you!" Emily said suddenly. Her countenance brightening as she waved happily at Smokey. "We danced."

"No, sugar. You danced, I watched."

"Nooo, you had to come get me on the dance floor. I saw you grooving to the beat."

"It was either that or land an elbow in the face." Smokey grinned appreciatively. He hadn't thought she'd had her eyes open at all during her first, and seemingly only (so far) jaunt to his bar.

Emily laughed at the visual of somebody elbowing this teddy-bear of a man in the face.

"Okay, up you get. We're going for a ride."

"On your Harley?" She asked excitedly.

"Not today." He smirked as she pouted a little. The other men, Severe, Grumpy, Shaft and the boy…Blue, moved away so he could escort Emily more easily out of the room. Severe leaning on Shaft followed, then Boy Blue and Grumpy. He grinned when he realized that they had forgotten all about Creeper. He supposed he couldn't blame them, and in truth, he didn't want them to remember him, not yet anyway. Only a couple more minutes.

They walked through the warehouse slowly. Hotch's wounds, which none of the others, save Emily and Christopher, knew about yet made it difficult for him to go any faster. Emily kept getting distracted by the things she saw, or ideas that popped into her head. Smokey loved the way her mind thought, he couldn't wait to see if she was like this sober too.

Pen, JJ, Doug, Bordeaux and Reid waited anxiously outside the building. They'd seen Lucas exit about a minute before. Saying everything was okay and he was going to retrieve the others. He told them not to go in, that the team were bringing Hotch, Emily and another victim out. In the end, Doug ended up following Lucas around the building. He felt more comfortable with the other bikers than he did with the two women, the tall, spindly boy-man and the hawkish older man.

Finally, something moved into the doorway. A high pitched squeal erupted over the early morning silence.

"Emily!" Garcia shrieked pulling JJ with her as she rushed forward to greet Emily.

Before Smokey had time to react, Garcia and JJ were crushing Emily with a cheerleader-esque intensity. Smokey had to let go, afraid that he too, would be pulled into this bizarre melding of three bodies.

"Are you alright?"

"What happened?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Where is Hotch?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

So many phrases and questions flying through the air. Beautiful colors too, familiar colors. She reached for Teddy…Smokey…whoever, the guy. He helped to keep her thinking away.

Smokey Tom saw her hand flailing out of the mush of bodies, trying to reach for him. He grasped it tightly and gruffly asked the girls to back off.

Lovely reluctantly let go, but Goldilocks looked ready to fight him for ownership of Shadow's hand. Before he had a chance to explain, Severe, Grumpy, Shaft and Boy Blue exited the building behind them. Another high pitched squeal from Lovely, sans body crush.

There were too many colors. Gold, silver and blue man was back, his color expanding every time she could see him looking at her, which was a lot. The older man, the one she had told she would have remembered he was orange and red, fiercely vibrant, blazing like fire in the air. The one her age, _Morgan_ – the name whispered in her subconscious, he was all purple and silver, shimmering and flexing in the midnight sky. Smokey was brown, all hues. He was beautiful, comfortable, cuddly. He really was bear-like. The two women who had nearly suffocated her, they were bright, pinks, greens, yellows, soft purples…gorgeously protective and loving. She couldn't remember their names but she remembered their voices, soothing, familiar, close.

The more she looked the worse the colors became, they were growing in intensity, she wanted them to stop. She wanted to close her eyes, but the colors were still there. Her head pounded, she felt the blood rushing through every vein, every breath maximizing the blood cells. Her head felt light, she was dizzy. Or tired, or thirsty…her brain wanted to stop thinking. She wanted to sit down, stand up, lie down, upside down, turn around, just a jump to the left, and pull your knees in tiiiiight. Pelvic thrust….why were there people singing in her brain?

Teddy bear man seemed to realize something was incredibly wrong. He pulled her away from the crowd and toward a dark, soothing car. He opened one of the back doors and helped her climb in. He followed immediately after. She was so tired. It was still so dark, would it ever be morning?

"Will it ever be morning?" she asked the air.

"Soon, Shadow. Soon." Smokey stroked her forehead as she leaned on him. Almost as soon as her eyes closed, her nearly hyperventilated breathing evened out, and she was asleep.

**Yay! They're finally rescued. Who else is glad this is over...of course, there's a little epilogue left to post, and then a post script to that epilogue, which I think the majority of you are going to like...they should be up soon...**

**Arc  
**


	47. Chapter 47

**Sorry this took about a week to be posted, but there is a reason...it's so freaking HUGE! I've never posted something this large before.**

It was a long, tense and silent ride back to the city. To the hospital. In fact, every SUV was silent and reflective. Garcia and Reid drove one of the SUV's back, that was the one carrying Emily and Smokey. Penelope's eyes flicking to the review mirror every so often, her personality straining against itself to contain her many questions. Emily was asleep and she obviously needed to rest. Reid was contemplating every possible side-effect that any number of drugs and their possible combinations could have on Emily's body. It was an unproductive if lengthy deliberation, but at least it kept him from freaking out too much.

Hotch and Christopher were in the back seats of JJ's SUV, while Rossi, Bordeaux and Morgan were supposed to ride back in the third. They had thought they would be escorting Tommy-Joel Parker in that SUV. They had even stayed behind after the others left so that Hotch, Christopher and Emily wouldn't have to be confronted with their abductor. There was one thing they hadn't counted on though, one thing they hadn't foreseen in their rush to rescue Emily and Hotch, and by extension Christopher…Smokey's loyal band of bikers.

The two SUV's carrying their precious cargo had left the warehouse, and were merely a dark blip on the sooty horizon when Doug and Lucas finally returned from the back of the building. Following them were the bikers. They were all grim, and stoic, but there was a slight semblance of a smile lurking behind many of their faces. Rossi immediately knew something grievous had happened.

"What did you do?" He asked the closest biker.

The burly, bearded hulk of man sneered at him. It wasn't his place to reveal what they'd been asked to do. Lucas immediately crossed the dirty ground to make sure nothing was being exposed.

"What did you do?" Rossi repeated, drawing the attention of Bordeaux and Morgan. They shuffled closer, eager to hear what was disturbing Rossi so badly.

Lucas gazed around the makeshift parking lot. Smokey was gone, so effectively he was in charge for the time being. Smokey hadn't said he couldn't tell the FBI what had happened. His only job had been to make sure they didn't know what was happening _when_ it was happening. But it was over now, well, at least as over as it was going to get.

"We had to take care of something." Lucas forced out. It wouldn't do to piss of these two federal agents.

"What something?" Rossi growled, he was tiring of asking the same questions and getting no answers. UnSub's were more cooperative. He didn't want to have to delay their getting to the hospital because he had to go on a round-the-warehouse voyage.

"Where's Mr. Parker?" Bordeaux suddenly asked, his eyes darting around the vicinity. He had come out with Emily and Hotch, hadn't he?

Morgan and Rossi's eyes immediately connected. Derek took off towards the building, he slipped inside the doorway and thundered down the corridor to the room. The room where they had left Tommy-Joel. No one was there.

When he came back out of the building, Bordeaux and thirty bikers were milling around in the darkness.

"Nothing." He said quietly to Bordeaux.

"Rossi's 'round back with Lucas and Doug…this is going to be bad, isn't it?"

It was a rhetorical question.

Rossi knew he should feel some emotion at seeing the ruined body lying in the scuffed grassy dirt. But he didn't, it was a guilt-ridden nothing. Guilt, because he felt nothing. He sighed. This was another BAU mishap that Strauss was surely going to use to her advantage…this was another reason your team wasn't supposed to work on any case involving you. They got too involved, felt too much relief if you were rescued. A stupid, imbecilic mistake that cost someone their life. But of course, if Garcia and Reid hadn't gone to Smokey Tom for help, they probably wouldn't have found Emily and Hotch tonight. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not.

"Who did this?" Rossi asked Lucas.

There was no answer.

"There'll be crime scene investigators out here, finding evidence…someone's going down for this."

"They won't find anything." Doug remarked. When Rossi arched an eyebrow at him, he amended his statement, "Okay, so they'll find lots of evidence…but nothing to prove one person did this."

"One or two people, the number doesn't matter. Only that there was the intention to do this."

"Oh no, no intentions." Lucas replied, "I only kicked him once and I was out there by myself."

"What about you?" Rossi asked Doug.

"Broke his finger…did you see the bruises on the girl? You don't do that."

"What about the rest of them." He said, motioning in front of them as they walked back to the others.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask them…" Lucas said.

"If I do, am I going to get 'I was by myself and I only kicked him once' too?"

"Probably."

"So T.J. got kicked…thirty times…"

"Sounds possible."

Rossi shook his head. There was no way anyone was going to be convicted for his death. Too many variables, no way to prove who caused the death. Any lawyer would immediately jump on finger-pointing the twenty-nine other possible culprits. They eventually came around the side of the building.

"Call it in, we've got a body. We won't be going to the hospital tonight boys, sorry." Bordeaux and Morgan nodded solemnly.

The hospital was a blur. At least, that's how Hotch remembered it. The bright lights, and loud, heavy noises of the Emergency Room, IV lines, x-rays, bandages, parades of nurses, doctors, orderlies and technicians, they all meted out his last reserves of energy. He was asleep before they even transferred him to the ward. It was the same parade of medications and health-care professionals for the asleep Emily, only the doctors and nurses were trying to flush the drugs out of her system. They had done tox-screens and found remnants of ketamine and loads of phencyclidine (PCP). There wasn't a lot they could do except monitor her and wait it out.

_Early morning_.

The BAU had commandeered the waiting room on the fourth floor of the hospital. Hotch and Emily were both asleep and the doctors were refusing access. . Garcia was contemplating the Ambassador Prentiss problem. She was Emily's mother, she probably had the right to know she was safe. BUT, if she hadn't of stolen the marker in Emily's file, they could have found her ages ago. Probably within the first week. Penelope didn't know if she could forgive her**, **of _or_ Kevin. Kevin knew Emily had been abducted, she'd called him straight away practically in tears. Didn't he think his previous tampering with her file might have some bearing on the case? They needed to know everything to be effective profilers. Morgan, Rossi and Bordeaux were still out in the field, with T.J.'s body, now that was going to be a doozey to explain to the Hotch-man and Em butit couldn't be helped and she wasn't going to be the one do it. Oh no, that was down to Rossi or Morgan, they were the senior agents in this scenario. Reid and JJ were still struggling to maintain their composures, especially since Hotch and Emily hadn't woken up. Garcia thought Reid might be worrying that Emily would become addicted to the drugs, like he had…well, stop thinking that silly Spencer, she mentally scolded him, we won't let that happen. And of course, Smokey Tom didn't know Emily had a mother. Well, he knew she had mother, she had been born, but he didn't know how to get in contact with her. Only Garcia did, and she wasn't going to. Penelope wanted Ambassador Prentiss to stew, just for a little bit, a few more hours…

Garcia was still barring the team from contacting Ambassador Prentiss, she wanted her to stew a little longer. Somewhere, near the stairwell, Kevin Lynch was adding his silent support. Reid had managed to convince Emily's attending that he was her physician, not too much of a stretch really. He was a Doctor after all.

Smokey had immediately claimed parental rights, and none of the doctors seemed inclined to disagree with his territorial stare.

Broken rib: right side, bruises and cuts, malnutrition, dehydration…it was serious, but everything was easily remedied.

Hotch was another matter. Thankfully, Hotch had had the foresight to name JJ as his emergency contact when they entered the ER.

Malnutrition, dehydration, burns, bruises, wounds and cuts…his torso was littered with bandages, his wrists and ankles looked like an eighties pop band had exploded in his room. Thankfully, there were no fluoro colors, only staid white.

Around midday, Hotch awoke. The team immediately filing in, keen to hear his report, or orders, or hell, even a stern stare would have been appreciated. By this time, Rossi, Bordeaux and Morgan had finally escaped their body detail over at the warehouse, they too joined the congregation in the small room. The room itself was a private one, the nurses had allocated him the room adjoining Emily's, although she was still asleep. Garcia had sweet talked the admin nurse into moving them closer together. Nurse Joy had been silently yelling at her laptop, it had frozen during an online bid on some antique Russian babushka dolls. Garcia had galloped to the rescue, unfreezing the computer and saving those dolls from Arsonist_365. Joy had been so grateful she'd offered Garcia & Co. one of the empty rooms to wait in. Garcia had quickly explained the situation, and Joy had moved Hotch from room 407 (with two gastric by-passes and a stroke patient) to 410, the room adjoining Emily's. The only two, one person, rooms on the entire floor.

"Hotch?" JJ began, slowly drawing his attention to where he was, "I called Hayley. She wants to know if she should bring Jack by today…he didn't know you were missing. So…" She stopped herself from chattering on. Hotch preferred succinctness.

"Yeah…I want to see him." His voice was garbled and rough, but she understood him. She nodded her head as she started retreating from the room, intent on calling Hayley back.

No one knew what to say, where to start?

"Reporting for duty sir!" Garcia started, leaning down to give him a quick peck on the cheek, "I'd hug you but you're all Bandage Bear today."

"Couldn't be helped Garcia. Apparently, doctors prefer everything to be sterile."

"I'm sure you could figure out something, sir."

"A nice mud bath, perhaps?" He coughed a little, straining to sit up.

The team cracked smiles at the unusually jovial Hotch, he rarely let this side out.

"Whoa, not so fast Hotch. Give yourself some time…" Morgan interjected, rushing to help him raise the bed, grabbing the remote and letting the bed control his ascent.

"Emily?" He asked.

"She's okay." Bordeaux replied, "Still asleep, she's been that way since she got in the SUV."

Hotch nodded, he felt the pain meds kick in again. Slowly closing his eyes he dropped back off to sleep.

The team eventually wandered down to the cafeteria. Smokey hadn't left Emily's bedside since they'd arrived. He really was doing a great impression of the doting father, but it was probably time to let Ambassador Prentiss know her daughter was safe. Garcia wasn't that mean. Rossi stayed with Hotch, they weren't going to be leaving anyone alone, especially after what had transpired with T.J.

Morgan was glad Rossi was the one who was going to have to tell Hotch he was dead. He didn't want to be involved in that party. They ate lunch/breakfast, food…whatever meal this was for them, they ate.

Hayley lead Jack by the hand through the hospital corridors. She wasn't sure what to tell him. He hadn't known his Daddy had been missing, and Aaron rarely got hurt on the job, or if he did, it wasn't serious…well, except for whatever had happened in New York that affected his hearing. She was regretting being bitchy that day, not wanting to hear about it when Kate's name had come up. She always been a little (irrationally) jealous of his previous attachment to the woman. She'd talked to Jack in the car, explaining that Daddy got hurt doing his job… 'his super-hero job?' Jack had asked. _Who told him that?_ She glanced around the ward, searching for a nurse when she saw Dave come out of a room.

"Dave…"

"Hayley, how are you?" He kissed her in greeting.

"I'm…doing okay." She tugged Jack a little closer, "Is he…awake?" That's not the word she was going to say, but it would do.

"He'll want us to wake him up. He wants to see Jack."

"How bad…is it?"

"It looks bad, but give me a few minutes…we'll cover him up." Rossi seemed to be under the illusion that she actually knew what had happened to him.

"What do you mean? What's wrong." Her voice rising a little in hysterical pitch. She kept a tight lid on it though, Jack would pick up on her distress if she wasn't careful.

"It's okay, he's okay. It's just some superficial burns, some cuts, bruises. They're mainly on his chest and back. So, I was thinking. I'll get him a shirt, and Jack won't know the difference." Rossi nodded his head decisively, patting her shoulder. That's when she noticed the team was standing behind her.

"Mrs…Hayley." JJ started lamely, kicking herself mentally in the head for the awkward start.

"He needs a shirt." Hayley replied. She sounded odd. Detached. Well, family of the victims were often in shock, that's probably what this was.

"Morgan?" Rossi broke in, guiding the younger man into Aaron's room.

After a few moments, Rossi came back out signaling the all clear.

Hayley picked up Jack and entered the room. Aaron was newly awake, wearing Morgan's shirt. But Morgan was gone.

"Hi." Her voice sounded strange, she noticed, like it was coming from another room.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, bud. How have you been?" Jack squirmed in Hayley's arms, leaning toward Aaron.

Hayley was frightened she didn't want him to accidentally hurt Aaron.

"It's okay Hayley…" Aaron said, understanding her hesitation completely. She nodded quickly and settled Jack down on the bed.

She watched her son play with his Dad for a while, before retreating to the edge of the room. It was clear Aaron needed some space to work through his emotions. She'd learned early in their relationship, anything too bad, too strong…he needed space. He hated people seeing what he perceived as weakness.

She was enjoying watching them interact when she heard noises coming from outside. They were distressed. Whoever it was, was in great pain, they sounded terrified. Surprisingly, a door opened into Aaron's room, one that Hayley hadn't even noticed was there. Agent Morgan poked his head through the opening.

"Need help." He said, before darting back into the room. The rest of the team followed him, some going through that door and some exiting to go around the wall and enter through the 'proper' door on the other side.

Aaron had sat up straight in bed, trying to see what was happening, but he was taking care of Jack so he couldn't get out of the bed easily.

Hayley moved closer to the door, trying to see what was happening. The noises were getting louder. It reminded her of Jack's nightmares, when he'd thought the Bogeyman lived under his bed.

There was a woman thrashing in the bed, her eyes were open but she didn't seem to know where she was. Aaron's team were trying to calm her down, and a nurse was wielding a syringe but one of the two men she'd never seen before was talking her out of using it. Apparently, the scared woman was coming off some hallucinogenic drugs and giving her anything would be bad for her. Now that she thought about it, the woman looked familiar…was this Prentiss, from the bar? Was that really two years ago?

"Emily!" JJ was saying, "Please, calm down…everything's okay. You're okay. You're in a hospital."

"No, no, no, no…" she whispered, holding her shaking head in her hands. Reid and Garcia looked like they wanted to get closer to her.

"Shadow…" An older man said, but Prentiss didn't respond. She was too focused on trying to block everything out.

The nurse decided this was the right time to try and sedate her. Agent Prentiss went postal.

She lashed out unexpectedly, the syringe flying out of the nurses hand and landing somewhere in the corner of the room. Her legs were getting twisted in the sheets and any movement by the team only caused her to become more agitated.

"Where's Hotch?" she asked herself, "he was here before…wasn't he? No…no, he was here. I know he was…he was here, right? Wasn't he?" She started crying. She seemed so unsure, Hayley just wanted to hug her. Reassure her that everything was going to be okay. She didn't know what she'd been through but she was still alive, that counted, right?

"Was Hotch here?" Prentiss suddenly asked the room.

Aaron's team glanced around at each other, who was she asking?

"I mean I know you're not real, but you represent…why don't I know where he is?" She looked down at her hands confusedly.

"Emily." A gruff sounding voice said from behind her. Hayley jumped at its' familiarity. Was that Aaron?

Prentiss…Emily, stilled.

Aaron was standing in the doorway, holding Jack in his arms. Jack was fascinated by the lady in the bed, she was so pretty. Pretty girls weren't supposed to be sad.

Aaron started forward, moving closer to her bed. He went slowly though. Every time he moved Emily Prentiss flinched, but she allowed him to come closer without moving away or crying. When he reached her bed, he slowly and carefully sat down. Being extremely wary of her reactions. Jack was still attached to his hip.

"Emily. It's me." He was waiting patiently for her to make her own decision.

For a few moments, absolutely nothing happened. It was like nothing existed, except for what was happening in this small sterile room, being witnessed by nine people. Then, Emily's arm reached out from protecting herself. It moved toward Aaron's chest. She touched him delicately. Hayley was struck by the intimacy of the action, but quickly disregarded it, this wasn't a big romantic/action movie, this was real life and the poor woman was highly disturbed. Who knows what she'd been through these past few weeks.

As soon as her hand came into contact with Aaron's body, it was like reality finally found her. She calmed immediately.

"You are here." She whispered.

"I'm here."

Her eyes closed, the adrenaline kicking through her system suddenly slumping. She settled back down into the bed and fell asleep.

"Did you save her from the bad people, Daddy?" Jack asked, surprising the occupants of the room, they'd forgotten he was on the bed too.

"No, buddy…nobody got saved."

Jack's face scrunched up in confusion. How could nobody got saved? Daddy always saved people from the bad guys. That's why he had the super-hero job.

Slowly, everyone started leaking from the room. Everyone needed their space. It was clear, there was going to be a lot of damage from this latest escapade.

Ambassador Prentiss was prowling the hallways. How dare that technical analyst keep her daughter's rescue from her! Her relief at Emily being okay quickly receding under the immense outrage of someone treating a mother with such disdain. A small voice reminded her that she did deserve the distrust. She had, in effect, spied upon the BAU… Elizabeth huffed out a breath of acceptance. Emily needed friends that cared about her this much, God knew the first twenty years of her life hadn't exactly been easy. Constantly being uprooted and transplanted to numerous countries, only bodyguards and politicians for company. Elizabeth finally entered Emily's room, she was still asleep. Hopefully, she would wake up soon.

Instantaneously, Elizabeth was transported back fifteen years.

She was jet-lagged from her massive eight hour flight back to America, her daughter had been kidnapped and held for an unknown amount of time, and she had no idea what had happened to her. Elizabeth's mind went to every horrible scenario possible, being Ambassador to some of the worst political regimes in the world had left her with little hope.

It had been a strange time…the only thing Elizabeth could hold onto was the idea that once the courts had their way with James Russell, the despicable man who stole her baby, that Emily would find closure. But now she realized, Emily was always too good at hiding her true self. She should have stayed in America longer. She shouldn't have left after two months, to go back to her post. It was so clear now that Emily wasn't close to being fully recovered. Elizabeth intended to not make the same mistake again.

"Oh…sorry," a tall, thinnish man exclaimed from the doorway, "I didn't realize anyone was in here"

"Who are you?" Elizabeth demanded.

"I'm Agent Bordeaux, Emily's…"

"Emily's what?"

"I'm helping her work through some stuff."

"Good, I think she needs that."

The Agent sat down next to her. They waited for Emily to wake up.

_Later that evening._

Christopher was wandering the hospital corridors. Other than some bruises, it hadn't been deemed necessary for him to be admitted to the hospital. Agent…blond, the pretty one…not the outrageously funny one, had made some appointments with a counselor that he was expected to see. He knew she wanted to call his parents, so he had told her he would do it. But for some reason, he hadn't. He'd left the hospital on his own and, after scabbing a couple of bucks off of some nice strangers, caught the bus home. Once he had gotten home, he'd realized his parents hadn't known he was gone. It was sad. His mother was her usual self, but his father seemed even weaker than before. When he'd come into the kitchen, as if he hadn't been missing for three weeks, his father's eyes had brightened. _"I thought you had left." _

He wanted to say he never would, he truly did. But one day, when he was old enough had could find a job, he would be leaving…he was even thinking about joining the FBI or law enforcement…to make sure the things that had happened to Emily and Hotchner never happened to others.

Home life was exactly the same, his father living in perpetual fear of his mother, and Christopher…well, he just tried to stay out of the way. Which is how he found himself back in the hospital…searching for Hotchner and Emily. He just wanted to make sure that they were okay.

He was too scared to ask a nurse where there rooms were, so he was floating through the corridors and levels, visually searching for them. He'd poked his head into many rooms by this point, and received varying responses. Most people were too drugged or in pain to care about a fifteen year old's two-second room invasion.

He was on the fourth floor now, everything was quiet.Visiting hours were over, but he had the down-trodden look about him…none of the nurses had seen him enough times to become worried that he was there on his own.

There were some distressed noises coming from down the hall. They were familiar. He padded toward them. Female. Nightmare. Emily.

She was in one of the private rooms at the end of the hall. He passed another room with an empty bed on his way there, he wondered where that person was, the bed was unmade, messy, like someone had just left it. Peering into her room, he saw Emily in the throes of a nightmare. She was trying to be quiet, that's when he knew she thought she was still in the dark room, with the high-pitched sound. She was trying to protect herself even in sleep. As he came closer to crossing the threshold of her room, he noticed a man standing in the shadows. Christopher immediately tensed, his brain told him to run, but he wanted to make sure Emily was safe. Soon, the man moved.

It was Hotchner. He didn't seem to know how to wake her up. If she woke up in the dark, would she be able to figure out where she was? Would she attack? Retreat? Scream? Every decision seemed to have a multitude of bad consequences. Hotchner made his choice.

Christopher felt like he was back at the warehouse, watching them through the veil of the television. But this time he wasn't in another room, he was at their door watching them, there was nothing separating them from him, and this time they didn't know they were being observed. Hotchner moved toward her, running his hand over her forehead, brushing hair out of the way, she settled a little. He grabbed her elbow and squeezed it slightly, trying to wake her up as slowly as possible. Her frightened sounds got louder, she struggled weakly against his hands. Hotchner got into the bed with her, he wrapped her around him like they had been when they were lying on the floor of that room. Christopher thought Hotchner was trying to reassure her, give her some small amount of comfort.

Emily suddenly woke up. But she didn't open her eyes. Well, he thought, she'd spent most of the three weeks in darkness, it probably didn't occur to her to open her eyes when she knew she would never be able to see anything. Her hands tightened on Hotchner's arms, making sure he was still there.

Hotchner ran his hand down her arm and pressed his chin to her face, tucking her underneath him. Emily moved back from him a little bit. Like she was getting ready to say something. But she didn't say anything. She kissed him.

Just a small one. It wasn't big or romantic or sloppy or fierce, like the ones he'd seen on movies or at home. It was small, tender, almost scared, and Hotchner didn't try to stop her or move away. They were talking again, he could see, like they had in that room. Talking without words, without sight, only touch...

He wondered if they would be able to figure everything out once they were in daylight, back in the real world. Where nobody wanted to know about the things seen in the darkness,Christopher hoped they would, he wanted someone to have a good life. 

_The Next Day…_

Hotch was getting frustrated. He was profiler for God's sake. He could tell the team were keeping something from him. The nervous tics Reid was displaying, JJ's frowny-forehead face when he tried to talk about the UnSub or Christopher, tried to find out how he was. Morgan and Rossi putting their blank interrogation faces on whenever they entered the room. Something had happened, and they were keeping it from him.

He also wanted to leave this damn hospital, but that wasn't going to be happening today, maybe tomorrow, or the next day. If he made certain no one knew he was in pain. He knew it was the kind of pain that would fade, it's just that it was everywhere conceivable on his chest and back, and wrists and ankles. But he could handle it, and he knew he would feel much better at home, where Hayley could bring Jack by, and he could remember life was good. Life was wonderful, and some bad people in the whole of the goodness didn't detract from it. It just meant you valued those good things more.

Emily was being discharged today, she'd heard some of the nurses talking about Hotch. He'd have to stay a little longer, his burns were still causing him some trouble. They'd been avoiding each other. Well, at least…she wasn't sure actually.

She had been avoiding everyone. She just pretended she was asleep. It worked well. No one wanted to wake up her up, and the only people she had conversed with were her mother, Bordeaux and Smokey. He'd been in her room the first time she'd woken up. Mentioned something about T.J. that had taken her three hours to figure out, her brain was still muddled from the PCP and ketamine, and told her he'd be seeing her around. He'd made sure she was okay and was going to get out of her hair. She only wished everyone else would get the hint and stop visiting her too. She needed to decompress…in private, where she could control herself. Being in the hospital meant she couldn't work through anything. If she showed how unstable she really was, they'd keep her here longer, and Emily HATED hospitals.

Bordeaux. He'd been interested in the psychology of what had happened. She'd actually snapped at him. _She_ wasn't interested. Not yet anyway. There were more important things to worry about first, like getting out of this damn hospital and remembering her rib was broken and to not try and use her right arm.

He'd told her the story of her rescue though, that she had been the one to take T.J. down. When he described what they'd learned from Christopher and what Rossi and Morgan had seen, there were a lot of unanswered questions. She'd tried to remember, truly she had, but there were only feelings.

Pain, panic, colors (they weren't feelings but she definitely remembered them) and some sort of realization…that she was finally free. Free from The Observer and those choices, those decisions. That was all behind her, and T.J. was making her relieve it. She wanted that to stop. Something had snapped, or released…she wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it worked. She had somehow called upon unknown strength. She must have overpowered him. It was the only possibility.

**Whoop, whoop, almost finished (no truly, actually almost finished) Just one more post and then this puppy's done!**

**Arc, reviews are a delight :)  
**


	48. Chapter 48

_Intellect takes us along in the battle of life to a certain limit, but at the crucial moment it fails us. Faith transcends reason. It is when the horizon is the darkest and human reason is beaten down to the ground that faith shines brightest and comes to our rescue._

_Mohandas Gandhi_

Epilogue

Someone was knocking at her door. Couldn't they just leave? She wasn't in the mood for company.

The knocking continued.

Sighing in exasperation, she pushed herself off her comfortable, comfortable sofa and made for the front door.

It had been a shock, when she had finally gotten out of the hospital. The crime scene investigators hadn't been kind to her apartment, and then there were the boys, diligently trying to clean up her place. She was a tiny bit grateful and mostly annoyed. They were doing it wrong, and touching her stuff. This was her place. She dreaded to think of what they'd done to her kitchen. So she'd pasted on a smile, which they knew was fake. Thanked them, and promptly asked them to leave. They hummed and shifted, and moaned, and tried to think up excuses to stay. Eventually, she convinced them to leave. Then she'd been on rotation alert.

That had been two days ago, yesterday Hotch was released. She didn't want to think about it. She approached the door hoping it was a delivery she'd forgotten about, or someone trying to serve her for a random court case…please be a lawyer. Deciding not to peek through the peep-hole she yanked open the door.

Hotch.

Hotch stared at the numbers on Prentiss' door, they gleamed in the hallway light. The last time he'd been looking at those numbers, Prentiss had been drunk, draped over him losing her ability to operate a key effectively. He glared at the innocent looking door, it seemed to mock him in its placidness. He continued knocking. He knew she was home. She wouldn't provide another opportunity for Garcia to invade their privacy.

He wasn't leaving until they talked. He was resolute. They needed to clear the air.

After leaving T.J.'s warehouse, and traveling in silence in separate SUV's to the same hospital, they hadn't really seen each other since. She'd had a massive nightmare and needed him to convince her of reality, but he wasn't sure if she actually remembered it happening…twice. The team had kept him informed but neither one seemed to want to confront the other, and so almost three days had passed with no communication. It wasn't like either one of them. So here he was, being a public nuisance, knocking on Prentiss' door (and yes he was aware he was distancing himself from her) at the wrong end of the evening. It was late, but not _too_ late for a 'social' visit. He was still contemplating the lateness of the hour when the door suddenly opened. His mouth abruptly dried. A couple of blinks of his eyelids didn't help the matter either.

She stared dumbly at his shirt. It was red. She'd never seen him wear red before. In fact, she couldn't remember anyone except herself wearing red at the BAU, Garcia didn't count. She wore any color. His shirt covered all the bruises and wounds she knew must be there. It vaguely entered her consciousness that she was wearing her owl and moon pajama bottoms and tank top with built-in-bra. Not that it was really working that function lately. Her broken rib made sleeping, walking, standing, sitting, breathing, anything-ing difficult…lately. He was here for a reason, she finally concluded. Turning around slowly she meandered her way back to the kitchen and leaned back against the counter-top.

Hotch took the fact that she hadn't shut the door on him as acceptance for admittance into her home. He followed her at what he deemed a safe distance. He stood awkwardly opposite her, eyeing her frame as she leaned against the counter. She was standing too stiffly, like she didn't trust him to be in her house. He suddenly realized he didn't want to say what he came here to tell her. He just wanted to be near her, be around her. He desperately wanted to talk to her about what had happened. He was still refusing to tell anyone what had happened. The team were getting quite frustrated, but they were allowing it. He was using his injuries as an excuse, and they were letting him. He wouldn't ever let one of them get away with it. But then, they seemed to know some information he didn't. They were keeping something from him too.

He wasn't saying anything…Hotch always had something to say, even if it was simply 'get back to work', although he could say that without words too. She was too tired to try and figure out why he was here. She couldn't be bothered. She was sore, sleepy, mentally exhausted and her emotions were completely frayed. This was why she'd been on her own for the past two days, she didn't want anyone to be here when everything broke past her mental barricades. She was getting quite close, she could feel it. She didn't want him here when she broke. She moved her hand up into her hair, trying to get the imaginary wisps off her forehead.

He could see her shutting down, she wanted him out. He didn't want to go. He was going to have to be open with her…hmm, honest with her at least. He didn't _do_ open so well. His feet started moving forward without conscious thought. He watched as she tried to hand swipe some flyaway hair into her sloppy ponytail. By the time her hand had reconnected with the counter-top Hotch was already directly in front of her. She looked up at him was slow moving awareness, she was really exhausted he realized.

He was so close, she could feel the heat pouring off him. Her feet were bare and the floor was cool on her soles, the counter was pushing icy lines into her back, seeping through her tank top. She instinctively moved closer to Hotch's warmth, never let it be said again the man was cold, he was practically a furnace. She wanted to wrap herself up in him. She breathed in deeply, he even smelled the same as in that small, dark room. That room was always going to be darkness in her memory. Those three weeks were practically black in her recollection. She'd averaged out about four days with light in that month…

Before he knew what he was doing, Hotch's hand had a firm hold of Prentiss' hip. He pulled her closer, she was already arching up to him when their lips connected. It was different, he concluded. He'd spent over twenty years with the same woman, he hadn't kissed anyone since. In fact, he'd been on a sort of kissing sabbatical, amongst other things. It was nice though. Better than nice actually. Kissing Prentiss was wonderfully involved, every nerve tingled and sparks rushed at his mind carrying information. Taste, touch, aroma, heat; the neurons in his brain were firing constantly. He'd never felt so much adrenaline without there being a life or death situation around. A part of him rebelled at his mind making logical deliberations about the kiss he was currently, actively, sharing with Emily Prentiss. His body had a purpose of it's own and it wanted him completely concentrated on what he was presently doing, not what he might be thinking and feeling about it.

His left hand was determinedly attached to Emily's hip, grasping it tightly and ever so often squeezing her so that he was molding her body to his. There wasn't even enough room to slide a piece of paper between their bodies, not that Hotch was really aware. His lips were busy, aggressively confronting her mouth. Nipping at her bottom lip. He must have caught a tender spot because she abruptly caught his jaw and moved his head. This time it was her mouth choreographing the confrontation. Her mouth assaulting his lips, she was plucking at him sporadically, it was driving him insane. He wanted to be in the lead, he wanted to dictate where the kiss went, none of this unrelated, undeniably delicious, niggling. It felt like she was nagging him. No, not 'nagging' per se, irritating him, pestering, riling him. She was doing this on purpose. She wanted him to overpower her.

At some point, probably ten seconds after their lips connected, his tongue had found it's way into her mouth. They were dueling, he supposed. But what were they trying to win? Was it finding out who had dominance? Control? Who could provoke the other into giving in? What were they giving into anyway? He was being his usual in-command self, and she was trying to assert her influence. Only, did he want her to be more forceful? More assertive? Or did he want her softer? More compliant? Wherever she was right now wasn't either of those. She was capricious in her method but insistent. Whatever is was, he had to admit, her ministrations were working. It was take, and give, and retreat, and coax, and press forward. The hand that had previously manoeuvred his jaw into the preferred position was sliding up and down his arm, grabbing hold of the muscles and tendons in his arm, testing them, feeling them flex with every time she kissed him in a way that was unexpected. Abruptly, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down more.

This wasn't why he came here, he suddenly remembered. It was too demanding for a first kiss, at least in his opinion. First kisses were supposed to be about tentative permission, seeking out what the other person tasted like, figuring out how your bodies fit together. But it wasn't like that. It was all grasping, and melding, and closeness, and too much emotion. Too many thoughts trying to express themselves through the kiss. He abruptly pulled back. Pushing her gently away with his other hand, so that she was once again leaning against the kitchen bench.

There was a very slight pop as they disconnected from one another. What just happened? She thought. His hand was still on her hip, his fingers were moving in slow arcs, soothing her impulse to flee.

He closed his eyes, trying to balance himself. That had not been his intention, he hadn't really even given this aspect of their relationship much thought over the past few days. There were bigger problems they needed to resolve first. Apparently his body wanted to do other things before sorting out the mental equilibrium he had been intent on achieving tonight. The flood of sensations spreading throughout his body finally registered. Alcohol…wine…red.

"Have you been drinking?"

She raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief. After a short pause, she stretched her body up a little, pressing a kiss onto his bottom lip. When he didn't try to stop her, she finally allowed her body to make it's first conscious bodily contact with Hotch. His hands had certainly made quite a quick journey about her body. His hands were locked at the base of her spine. It was only fair she returned the favor, somewhat at least. She was still cognizant of his wounds, so she rested her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down some so that she had better access to him. His hands tensed around her back, splaying themselves across her lower back, crushing her toward him. She began to slowly suck on his bottom lip. She could begin to love this lip she thought.

He tried not to respond, really he did, they needed to talk. She must have felt his reluctance, because she pulled back quickly, without his consent, his hands feeling bereft at the loss of contact.

"We kiss, and you ask me about wine?"

"So you have been?"

"God, Hotch…I'm trying to relax…" She pulled out the elastic keeping her hair up, walking away from Hotch and toward the sofa, "it's only wine, one glass."

He watched her walking away, at least she hadn't kicked him out. He realized she was pointing at the evidence of her binge drinking bender, one glass, mostly full. One bottle, mostly full.

"Is it too much to ask that I'm allowed a short respite before the hordes of investigators and questionnaires flood in regarding…what happened." Her hands had traveled to her hips ghosting over them, before returning to hang by her sides. As she was well aware, hands on the hips, was easy profiler-ese for antagonistic. So, she didn't want to talk about it either, and apparently the team hadn't gotten around to questioning her.

"No." he answered in a whisper. Again, that wasn't why he had come here tonight. "Why are you alone?" He opted to ask, instead of trying to kiss her again.

She shot him a disapproving look. He, out of everyone, should understand the reasons she didn't want to be having 'girl talk', or listening to Reid's statistics, or Morgan's macho-ness, or Rossi's…whatever.

"I couldn't be bothered with dealing with anybody." She sat down stiffly on the sofa. Glaring at the wine glass when he moved around the back to sit beside her.

"The team." He answered sagely. She suddenly had an insane urge to either, a) slap the perceptive look of his face, or b) kiss it away. Each one had certain advantages. "But they wouldn't just let you be on your own," he continued, " what do they think is happening?"

She huffed before answering, "Rossi thinks I'm with Reid, Reid – JJ, JJ – Morgan, Morgan – Rossi, Garcia thinks I'm at my mother's and my mother thinks I'm at Pen's."

She really had this figured out, each one of those pairings wouldn't, even for a second, think of interrupting her with that member of the team. He'd heard enough of Garcia's rantings at Lynch to know Ambassador Prentiss would be having technical difficulties for a long time to come.

They slid back into silence, staring out at the lights of the city, breathing slowly, trying not to think. His eyes somehow made their way back to the bottle of wine.

"You want some?" She asked. Apparently, she had been watching him this whole time.

He nodded. Might as well.

She got up slowly, left hand coming around to cradle her ribcage. He'd forgotten she'd broken a rib. How could he have forgotten that?

She returned later with another wine glass, pouring out the delicious red wine. Hotch watched mesmerized by the play of lights on the purpley-red liquid. When he'd asked if she'd been drinking, he'd never said it was a bad thing. He only wanted to know if she really tasted like that.

They had both finished their first glasses of wine, and were starting out their second when she finally had enough of the silence. They'd spent too much time not allowed to talk for them not to take the opportunity to talk now. Only, she didn't know what she wanted to talk about. Hotch must be having the same problem.

"Why did you come here?"

He glanced at her, surprised, like he had just remembered where he was, and with whom. He continued to stare, and she was oddly okay with his perusal.

"It wasn't to kiss me, I know that much." She tried for a smile…it came out a grimace.

"I wanted to…I thought…it…" He couldn't get it out. Speaking in front of influential Judges made him less flustered.

She sighed. It was going to be one _those_ nights. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine they were in a different setting, anywhere but her apartment, three days after escaping and overcoming another criminal, especially one with whom she had a past.

The silence dragged on, she had no intention of being the one to break it. He had come here. It was his duty to sever the stillness.

"I can't sleep."

She looked over surprised. That wasn't what she expected. She had expected him to start debriefing her about their experiences, in preparation for their 'official' statements (the ones sans snuggling).

Hotch was surprised too. He hadn't meant to say that.

"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I…"

"What?" She wasn't demanding, or even asking really. It was like a prompt more than anything.

"I go to bed, and close my eyes, and before I realize I'm asleep, I'm awake again. Panicked…"

"Panicked?' She prompted again.

"Terrified." He amended, "terrified that he's taken you again. That I'm back in that room, without you there, even in silence, to reassure me…that…that…"

"That we're okay?" She finished.

Did she really understand him that well? Or had she been experiencing the same thing.

She looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time that evening, profiled him. Even though it was like an invasion of privacy for them to do that to each other. He looked gaunt, worse than over-worked, almost worse than New York, and Kate Joyner. At least this time, no one had died…well, slight amendment to that. But, Hotch didn't know yet. The team hadn't _told_ them the truth. Smokey had let her know, in his own way, and she had understood him. They were family now, she was in his inner circle, a free drink at his bar whenever she popped by. Which was going to be a lot now.

"I'm tired." She stated. Standing up and holding out a hand to Hotch, she waited for him to grasp it before she moved.

He didn't understand what the hand meant, or why her being tired would have any basis for connection with said hand, or him. He gave up trying to figure out her reasoning. He took her hand and stood up.

She lead the way upstairs. Leading him to her bedroom, he slowed slightly when he realized where they were going.

"It's fine Hotch." She said without looking at him, "I need a manly man for lifting purposes." She turned then, and tried for one of her usual Prentiss smiles. It fell a little short but he appreciated the effort. She pushed open the door, her mattress was on the floor. Sheets, pillows and comforter lay haphazardly across it and around it. It was lying awkwardly on the floor, like someone had spent a long time pulling it off the bed with one hand. Actually that's exactly what it looked like because that's what she had spent an hour doing, before trying to sleep, last night. Not that any sleeping happened, but still, the thought and effort had been there.

"Prent…Emily?" He wanted an explanation for the mattress. That wasn't normal.

"I've found…after the first time…it's better to re-immerse yourself into the creature comforts of living outside a bare room." She was going for humor. He'd let her have it. "I moved the mattress onto the floor so it wasn't as comfy as usual, but not as hard as the floor. It's okay. But I think I'm ready for the bed again." She bunched her forehead, she obviously couldn't do it with her rib. He could.

He nodded again. Reaching down he made short work of restoring her bed to it's proper arrangement. As soon as he had it back to normal, she was already slipping under the covers. She turned off the main light, and flicked on a small lamp by her bedside.

"You getting in?" She left the question open, light. No expectations. Just sleep. He said he couldn't sleep without her, she was offering him what he needed.

Two seconds of thought was all he needed. He toed off his shoes and socks. Quickly discarded his trousers, and gently climbed into the bed. His boxers and t-shirt dark and muted against the dim light of her lamp. She wasn't looking at him. Her focus was on the roof. He didn't know whether to be thankful or insulted.

After a minute of dim lit silence, he noticed she was totally unrelaxed. She was as stiff and hard as a plank of timber. Every muscle was tense.

"I have a confession to make Prentiss." He said to the ceiling.

"Sir?" She replied.

"I'm a cuddler."

An involuntary grin spread across her face.

"So, if you don't get over here right now, we'll only end up waking in a very unusual position."

"Orders received sir." He lifted his right arm and she moved into him, lying next to his body. Her left side folded between him and the mattress. She wouldn't be tossing and turning tonight. Her ribs wouldn't be able to take it. He felt her immediately relax.

Emily smiled as his arm ghosted over her shoulder and lay protectively against her back. Hotch wasn't the cuddler, she had two weeks' worth of practical experience to prove otherwise. She was. He was mattress material. She'd often been awake in the darkness, when he'd been sleeping. He would mumble, shift, roll a little, and as soon as his unconscious body recognized her. He would reach for her, pulling her compliant body to himself so that she was lying practically on top of him. Wrapping his arms around her and not letting her go. She had to admit, it was a great way to sleep. She hadn't had the pleasure of a truly compatible sleeping partner for ages.

They didn't know it, but they both fell asleep at the same time. Breathing synched, bodies relaxed, and pain forgotten for the first time in three weeks.

**and then I woke up and it was all a dream...the end. Kidding :)**

**But, it is the end, not a dream.**

**Arc, I hope everyone enjoyed this last post, I've never done anything more than a 'forehead kiss' before, so hope it all worked out okay. BIG THANKS TO SIENNA/SIERRA, (you know I always forget your 'name', just be glad I'm not using your 'real person' name) ;)**

**Much love, THE END. For serious this time :)  
**


End file.
